I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. After repeatedly trying to remove the plate, which was so firmly screwed down that it resisted all his efforts, and vainly attempting to pick it with the spike and nail; he, at length, after half an hour's ineffectual labour, wrenched off the box by means of the iron bar, and the door, as he laughingly expressed it, "became his humble servant. Perhaps you'll call that charity: I call it defeating the ends of justice. "Are you sure these bars touch the ground?" "They come within a yard of it," answered Jonathan. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable.
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