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. “It isn’t quite that we’re toys. “We’ll go to a place where we can have a private room,” he said. "What's the matter?" he cried. “I don’t know, John.
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