"Sir Rowland is murdered!" cried Jack, as soon as he could find a tongue. He renewed his supplications to Sharples, but with no better success than heretofore; and the greater part of the night was passed by him and the poor widow, whose anxiety, if possible, exceeded his own, in the most miserable state imaginable. There is no need of your friend to kill you, imbecile, because I shall do so this minute. You're in luck to-night, widow.
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