" "Odd's me! do you think so?" cried the host of the Trumpeter. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. This smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look. ” He laughed. Selecting a key from the heavy bunch committed to him by Austin, he threw open the door, and beheld Blueskin seated at the back of the small chamber, handcuffed, and with his feet confined in a heavy pair of stocks.
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