“You must have heard—have you—oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged. The same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs. Selecting a key from the heavy bunch committed to him by Austin, he threw open the door, and beheld Blueskin seated at the back of the small chamber, handcuffed, and with his feet confined in a heavy pair of stocks. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. Such was his fury, that if he had not been restrained by the presence of the two turnkeys, he might perhaps have anticipated the course of justice, by laying violent hands upon his victim. The chapel was crowded to excess. "Fool!" he cried, "do you think I wouldn't have secured you before this if I hadn't some motive for my forbearance?" "And that motive is fear," replied Jack contemptuously. Being a Chinaman in blood and instinct, he despised all spinsters; they were parasites.
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