Wood, with a candle in his hand, which Jack instantly blew out, and darted down stairs. " "You have no son," rejoined Sir Rowland, moodily. " "Jack's a noble fellow," exclaimed the head-jailer of Clerkenwell Prison, raising his glass; "and, though he played me a scurvy trick, I'll drink to his speedy deliverance. For your information, it was paradise there.
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