"My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. I don’t think you understand. There he sat as before, with the heavy fetters on his limbs, and beside him sat his three companions, who had since expiated their offences on the gibbet. Visible underneath his collar were some metal tags. The vestry door opened to the mews behind, and not to Golden Square. “I never dreamt!” she said.
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