The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. The prisoner, however, submitted more quietly than was anticipated. When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. I might as well be at Morningside Park. "Mr. "No; but I shall, before he retires to rest.
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