‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. I'm a graybeard, an old bachelor; so I am accorded certain privileges. You understand me, Charcoal. In your heart you know quite well that all that you have said is useless. ‘Where’s the sense in running away?’ ‘Doesn’t trust me,’ Gerald said briefly. Recollect, he's chained to the ground by a great horse-padlock, and is never unloosed except when he comes to that hatch.
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