Jack's former attempt to pass up the chimney, it may be remembered, was obstructed by an iron bar. Opposite the gallows was an open gallery, or scaffolding, like the stand at a racecourse, which, on state occasions, was crowded with spectators. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. Sir John filled his glass with trembling hand.
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