—Strype's Stow. "Granted it were as you say, Jack," said Wild;—"and I sha'n't take the trouble to contradict you—the estates would be yours hereafter. "Not my king's," returned Wood. What his head conceived his hand executed. When he awoke, it was late in the day; but though he heard voices outside, and now and then caught a glimpse of a face peeping at him through the iron grating over the door, no one entered the prison, or held any communication with him. But it is all over now, and presently there will be some one else.
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