"Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. She had looked forward to an explanation. A minute pressure inwards showed him that it was not locked. Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night. He was human. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger.
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