"My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. "Let me see him. You told me he was going back to Newgate after supper, so I mayn't have another opportunity. ” “Got a photograph of him or anything?” said Ann Veronica, after kissing her mother. He looked at her, hurt. Taking up a couple of large stones which lay near, Jack tried to beat the round basils of the fetters into an oval form, so as to enable him to slip his heels through them. "I'm not going to get rid of you just yet. CHAPTER XXVI.
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