She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. "I have killed her," exclaimed Jack, dropping the bar,—"by your advice, Thames. We could have secured you when you left the Mint. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. If I don't, you shall clap me in the Condemned Hold in his stead.
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