This morning I met him at the dock, and he wouldn't take the other fifty. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. Having seen his mistress safe down, Jack instantly descended, leaving the best part of his clothes, as a memorial of his flight, to the jailor. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom.
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