She stepped back quickly, and her hand knocked a wine-glass from the table to smash noisily on the floor. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. Jackson smiled and put on the air of a man who knows more than he cares to tell. "Follow me, Thames," cried Jack, dropping into the chasm. "Hell-hounds!" he cried; "release me!" At the same moment, Quilt Arnold rushed forward with such haste, that, stumbling over William Morgan, he precipitated him into the grave.
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