Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. I don’t defend it. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. He stopped short with a little exclamation of surprise. “It isn’t objections exactly.
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