Jack seemed glad enough to rest, his back against the wall, and closed his eyes. “Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. God bless you, Auntie! I'll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, if you want me to. "Have a little patience, Sir," rejoined the jailer.
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