"Or the street," returned Jack: "mind my words, the prison's not built that can keep me. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence. Not a breath was drawn. Never was there another girl like this one. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. It was scarcely likely that she would have accepted his aid.
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