Acquainted with every part of the jail, Jack well knew that his only chance of effecting an escape must be by the roof. “You are coming my way,” Courtlaw answered. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. He misstated her age and address; but you can’t get home on him for a thing like that. "Do you know what you make me think of?" "What?" "As if you had stepped out of some old family album. ’ ‘You can arrest me,’ answered Kimble belligerently, ‘but you can’t make me say nothing about her. She used to play violin, you know. Yes, I can readily believe it. In her usual style, she interviewed him for his life and was pleased that he liked nothing more than to talk about himself.
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