They fell in a diapason of smashes. The Well Hole 336 XIII. It was filled with sopping lichens and green benches too slimy to sit upon. " "By Jack Sheppard!" exclaimed the thief-taker. It was approached from the street by a flight of broad stone steps, leading to a ponderous door, plated with iron, and secured on the inner side by huge bolts, and a lock, with wards of a prodigious size.
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