" "All right, then. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. 1. ‘Me, I have a name. I know he is dead. Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well. . ‘Don’t even think of it,’ warned Gerald, in the voice generally reserved for his men. And he did not lack courage. .
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