Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. “You did your best to kill me,” he said. I’ve seen Brewis Charvill, by the by. Regardless of the risk he incurred from some heavy stone dropping on his head or feet,—regardless also of the noise made by the falling rubbish, and of the imminent danger which he consequently ran of being interrupted by some of the jailers, should the sound reach their ears, he continued to pull down large masses of the wall, which he flung upon the floor of the cell.
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