"Here, wife—hostess—fetch me that bottle from the second shelf in the corner cupboard. Selecting a key from the heavy bunch committed to him by Austin, he threw open the door, and beheld Blueskin seated at the back of the small chamber, handcuffed, and with his feet confined in a heavy pair of stocks. I know you. If a cart were coming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape was impossible. I made it a point to bring beachcombers to the house to fill her with horror of mankind. 1. But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad.
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