"We were talking shop," said McClintock, rising. "Jack Sheppard," returned the boy, fixing his eyes upon a portrait of the Earl of Mar. Previously to his descent he had left the nail and spike on the wall, and with these he fastened the blanket to the stone coping. However, not a moment is to be lost. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. Come along, you mad jade.
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