She wished she had not stood up. The great door of the Stone Hall was thrown open, and the sheriffs, preceded by the javelin-men, entered the room. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other. You don’t know. "Fear nothing, Sir," said the man, in a voice which Thames instantly recognised as that of Blueskin. .
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