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"Mother!" cried Jack, springing towards her. Running his hand hastily over it, he was startled to find it one complicated mass of bolts and bars. It must have cut him. Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. It isn’t because you’re good, but because I may be rotten bad; and there’s something—something living and understanding in you. "Ah! Terry O'Flaherty!" vociferated Jonathan, in a tone that betrayed hot the slightest discomposure. “I cannot reason with you,” he said at last wearily. "Help!—murder!—thieves!" screamed Mrs.
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