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. Spurlock had found the typewriter, oiled and cleaned it, and began to practise on it in the night. At one moment, it seemed as if the flying bark was about to put to shore.
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