Purney's hand-writing," said Jack, advancing, "and can at once decide whether this is a forgery or not. Having now fairly got out of Newgate for the second time, with a heart throbbing with exultation, he hastened to make good his escape. Clearly dazed, he stared, whispering an oath. I want to be myself. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. I’m not a bit afraid of anything—scandal, difficulty, struggle.
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