"All good people pray heartily unto God for this poor sinner, who is now going to take his death, for whom this great bell doth toll. I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think. I'm in a funk," Spurlock confessed. " "Jack's a noble fellow," exclaimed the head-jailer of Clerkenwell Prison, raising his glass; "and, though he played me a scurvy trick, I'll drink to his speedy deliverance. Gerald watched her perambulations in silence, his heart wrung.
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