‘But my poor Jacques is wounded and—’ ‘All taken care of,’ interrupted Hilary. And you’re as clean as fire. “You haven’t seen him in three hundred years?” He asked. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom.
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