\"With a last name like Albert?\" Michelle responded. " "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. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him. “Men’s waists are neither here nor there; A man scores always, everywhere. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore. Shotbolt?" rejoined the executioner.
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