The door was too strong, and too well secured, to break open,—the walls too thick: but the ceiling,—if he could reach it—there, he doubted not, he could make an outlet. I don’t want you to be sad. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. .
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