He heard the panting of the donkey-engine, then the slithering of the anchor chains. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. What had been happening all this time? ‘Do you tell me he has not again left his apartment?’ ‘Only to go to some party or other Monday night,’ Kimble said. But they did what they could for her. He has had the whole country searched; but hitherto without success. ‘What, is Nicholas dead?’ He saw the two of them exchange glances and an instinct of danger rose up.
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