It clicked and the bookshelf was once more intact. The next moment, a struggle was heard, and Blueskin appeared at the door, followed by Mrs. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. “This is a very foolish sort of entertainment. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. A maidservant held the front door open. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him.
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