"There'll be a louder echo here presently," thought Jonathan. Spurlock understood that his vantage would be temporary; the Wastrel had been knocked down, not out. The room was intimate and wonderful to her with its shadows now cast over the girlish menagerie of stuffed animals. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. At six o'clock, the wicket was shut; and at nine, the jail was altogether locked up.
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