With a small saw, conveyed to me a few days since by Thames Darrell, which I contrived to conceal upon my person, I removed a spike in the hatch, and, with the aid of some other friends, worked my way out. He stood on the top step for a moment, lost in deep thought. And, as he was about to put himself into a posture of defence, his mother clasped him in her arms. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said, “because we want you to do us a favour.
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