‘Hadn’t meant you to know,’ said the nun gruffly. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. "At a place we call the Dark House at Queenhithe," answered Jonathan, "a sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side, and frequented by the crew of the Dutch skipper, to whose care he's to be committed. Life’s hard enough nowadays for an unprotected male. And I’ll have that story off you as we journey back to town. "Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood. My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that. " "To be opened in case of my death," added Spurlock. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave.
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