“All’s well that ends well,” he said; “and the less one says about things the better. But of what avail is this? You have no execution, no finish. Selecting a key from the heavy bunch committed to him by Austin, he threw open the door, and beheld Blueskin seated at the back of the small chamber, handcuffed, and with his feet confined in a heavy pair of stocks. I don’t suppose you could tell me even the derivation of suffrage if I asked you.
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