" "Why not?" "I am a thief, a hunted man. ” The doors at the other end of the hall opened. " "None whatever," replied the mob. "My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. "I give you all of my genius, and you say—'Get out!' I am some kind of a dog. Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well.
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