Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. Let us have no more of this humbug. I have—run away. Whether the turnkey entertained any suspicion of the old man, Jack could not tell, but that night he was more than usually rigorous in his search; and having carefully examined the prisoners and finding nothing to excite his suspicions, he departed tolerably satisfied. ‘Very. Sir John once more looked around him. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time.
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