She was in one of her old walking-dresses, her hair was done in an unfamiliar manner, she wore a wedding-ring, and she looked as if she had been crying. He lowered himself on to her. "Wet your whistle before you start, Jack," said Kneebone, pouring out a glass of ale. The clanking of chains, the grating of locks, and the rumbling of bolts must have been music in Jonathan's ears, so much pains did he take to subject himself to such sounds. "I am content," said Jack.
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