"Read that," rejoined Austin, pointing to the placard. What's-your-name?" "Shotbolt, Sir," replied the jailer. He stood upon the threshold, dangling his eye-glasses in his fingers, stolid, imperturbable, mildly interrogative. He noted that she was fully dressed, that her hair was carefully done, that there was a knotted ribbon around her throat. ” “Ah!” Sir John exclaimed.
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