"How are you off there, Shoplatch?" inquired Kneebone. He’s dead. But with the morning, the glorious unstained morning the passion of living would stir even the blood of a clod. Of this man Kneebone resolved to go in pursuit; and leaving Jack in charge of the constable, he proceeded to the small inn,—which bore then, as it bears now, the name of the Six Bells,—where, summoning the hostler, his steed was instantly brought him, and, springing on its back, he rode away at full speed. Lucy was silent.
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