” He plunged into one of his drawers, and brought up a small gold-foiled bottle. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. He looked at her with an expression of comical despair. " "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. "Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully. " "Where are they?" "Ay, where are they?" chorussed the mob, flourishing their various weapons, and flashing their torches in the air; "we'll starve 'em out.
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