230 Rhea sprang, teeth flashing. The commissionaire smiled. " "Jack's a noble fellow," exclaimed the head-jailer of Clerkenwell Prison, raising his glass; "and, though he played me a scurvy trick, I'll drink to his speedy deliverance. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. “But I must, I will,” he answered fiercely.
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