The stairs creaked as Mark rushed down them. The young officer sat in front, his hat perfectly straight. “This is Mr. But I shall lose my wager if I stay a moment longer—so here goes. Fatigued by his previous exertions, and incumbered by his fetters, he was by no means—though ordinarily remarkably swift of foot—a match for his foes, who were fast gaining upon him. Gosse sneered. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head.
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