" "Suppose he brings Blueskin, or some other ruffian with him," hesitated the jailer. "I was only just in time. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. You know nothing of life, nothing of its dangers, nothing of its possibilities. He shot at me at the ‘Unusual,’ and the magistrates bound him over to keep the peace. “And what is it all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking at her a little quizzically over his glasses. He was silent.
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