Kneebone and Mr. Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. And grasping the thick iron rod, she pushed with all her force against it, while Jack seconded her efforts from within. Sepulchre's clock struck eight. "Mercy on us!" cried he, as a thrill of apprehension ran through his frame.
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