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" "Then you are hurt," cried the carpenter in alarm. "There's Sharples," cried Quilt. Alarmed by these prognostications of a storm, and feeling too much exhausted from his late severe treatment to proceed further on foot, Wood endeavoured to find a tavern where he might warm and otherwise refresh himself. "And now, to your own concerns. The Press Room, to which Blueskin was conveyed on his arrival at the jail, was a small square chamber, walled and paved with stone. It may be treacherous, it may lay up a store of future woe; but it insures present happiness, and that is sufficient. " "Won't you go?" cried Jack passionately.
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