"I shall like to call you that. Kneebone," returned Shotbolt. He had little money about him, and unless friends come to his aid he must be treated as a pauper. Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. . “Of course, I remember now. Say something. At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move.
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