Are you satisfied?’ Grudgingly, Jack Kimble took back the coins. “It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. She would always be waiting upon this boy, he mused. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm.
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