But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. There was something very wrong. One could enter and leave by proa, but nothing with a keel could cross the coral gate. Then it dawned. We felt like thieves. Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders. It is dull—deadly dull.
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