Amid the confusion, Shotbolt sprang to his feet, and levelling a pistol at Jack's head, commanded him to surrender; but, before any reply could be made, the jailer's arm was struck up by Blueskin, who, throwing himself upon him, dragged him to the ground. “You too sing?” he asked. The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold.
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