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Rowland felt himself sinking beneath the powerful grasp of his enemy. Sepulchre's church struck one, on the eventful night of the 10th of June, (to which it will not be necessary to recur,) a horseman, mounted on a powerful charger, and followed at a respectful distance by an attendant, galloped into the open space fronting Newgate, and directed his course towards a house in the Old Bailey. Jack appealed to the new auditors, and again detailed his story, but with no better success than heretofore. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. "You're a bold fellow, Jack," rejoined the blacksmith. "Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest corner of the cell.
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