" "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. ‘But this is not to my blame, grandpére. She had no place she loved. Old and dilapidated, the widow's domicile looked the very picture of desolation and misery. In her ears there was a medley of sound: wailing music, rumbling tom-toms and sputtering firecrackers.
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