And I've already told you the accident was not Jack's fault. Above was a spacious hall,
connected with it by a flight of stone steps, at the further end of which stood an
immense grated door, called in the slang of the place "The Jigger," through the
bars of which the felons in the upper wards were allowed to converse with their
friends, or if they wished to enter the room, or join the revellers below, they were
at liberty to do so, on payment of a small fine. The likeness was
ridiculous. “I am afraid,” he said gravely, “that your sister has been a little indiscreet. Nuns, I mean. One must get them with exactly the same intensity. It did not cheer or fortify him with false
courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. Many other wards,—especially on the Master Debtor's side,—have been
necessarily omitted in the foregoing hasty enumeration. He was leaning against a window
frame, his hat in his hand. Perhaps the Parisian atmosphere had affected him. Whether the turnkey entertained any suspicion of the old man, Jack could not
tell, but that night he was more than usually rigorous in his search; and having
carefully examined the prisoners and finding nothing to excite his suspicions, he
departed tolerably satisfied. A species of vertigo seized him. Kimble was clearly a plain-spoken fellow.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 08-07-2024 06:07:29