"On that night,—in this room,—in your presence, Blueskin,— in yours Mr. Produce them!" "Never!" replied Kneebone. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. Austin was dismissing a host of inquirers who had been attracted thither by the news,—for it had already been extensively noised abroad. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts.
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