Hearing the noise of the scuffle, the tapstress, fancying it was Jack making an effort to escape, in spite of the remonstrances of the executioner, threw open the wicket. . Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. " "Perhaps that was it. "Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. And then the fetters, which were still upon his legs:—how was he to get rid of them? Tired and dispirited, he still wandered on. She glanced at the Frenchman, and found him struggling with the portrait that was embedded around his scalp. The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast.
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