" "I know where she will be found, and how," rejoined Jack with a shudder. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s. Lady Angela shrugged her shoulders. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. That is what they call these aristocratic refugees, the English. " "Jack's a noble fellow," exclaimed the head-jailer of Clerkenwell Prison, raising his glass; "and, though he played me a scurvy trick, I'll drink to his speedy deliverance.
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