His vicious abusiveness vanished. He continued tenderly, almost affectionately. "Then, the story of his death was false. "Follow me, Thames," cried Jack, dropping into the chasm. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom.
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