Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. In truth, she had been quite glad to lose the argument about remaining while the bullet was dug out of Jack’s side. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. He cannot.
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