Kneebone," observed Shotbolt, as he emptied his tenth tumbler; "I'm sure he's meditating an escape, and hopes to accomplish it to-night. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. He would get very cross one evening and no one would dare to remind him of it. I won't give him a chance. It was necessary to think, and think quickly.
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