"Only my darbies," returned Jack, clinking his chains. “So should you. His face changed and she saw, with a stab at her heart, the dawning of irritation in his eyes. The wretch you confide in has sworn to hang you. The operation was effected with so much rapidity and so little noise, that even if any one had been on the alert, he could scarcely have detected it. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict.
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