The great gray boles of the palms reminded him of some fabulous Grecian temple. Probably something he had eaten. There was a moment’s breathless and disappointed silence. "You are my prisoner, Jack. That’s about the beginning. On the right of the postern against the wall was affixed a small grating, sustaining the debtor's box; and any pleasure which the passerby might derive from contemplating the splendid structure above described was damped at beholding the pale faces and squalid figures of the captives across the bars of its strongly-grated windows. Wood!" exclaimed Jack, in surprise. Not daring, however, to listen to it, he ran on. That’s my point. "Rather in the way. "You're in danger.
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