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Along the floor ran an iron bar to which Jack's chain was attached, so that he could move along it from one end of the chamber to the other. Was the situation so desperate that he could not pack his best things? She had packed lightly, not wanting to weigh down the carriage they would travel in. "So, you're admiring my cabinet, Sir Rowland," he remarked, with a sinister smile; "it is generally admired; and, sometimes by parties who afterwards contribute to the collection themselves,—ha! ha! This skull," he added, pointing to a fragment of mortality in the case beside them, "once belonged to Tom Sheppard, the father of the lad I spoke of just now. ’ Amusement flickered in Gerald’s breast. Supposing the wire should break and her head tumble off her shoulders into the street? The whimsey caused another smile to ripple across her lips. "I am glad you think that," she replied. If she kept on, would she make it out of the door? Then what? He could come after her before she could reach the secret passage. " "Figg's an old friend of mine," rejoined Jack; "he was my instructor in the small sword and back sword exercise. Of what use was the temporary set-back to memory, when it always returned with redoubled poignancy? Then came another thought, astonishing. A blow from the iron bar instantly stretched the ruffian on the floor. .
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