“You will pardon me, sir,” he said in a subdued tone, “but I think that you have forgotten to look at your engagement book. The chance it is the same for both. He disappeared into its thick doors like a magician’s rabbit. The Press Room, to which Blueskin was conveyed on his arrival at the jail, was a small square chamber, walled and paved with stone. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. It was time to get up.
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