You get the idea. In any case, there was no doing anything on a Sunday and Brewis Charvill, his main quarry, had gone out of town unexpectedly. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. "Choose, Jack. And then the fetters, which were still upon his legs:—how was he to get rid of them? Tired and dispirited, he still wandered on.
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