He glanced at Ruth (who had stood with her back to the wall, pinned there throughout the contest by terror and the knowledge of her own helplessness), then at the bronze menace, and calculated correctly that this particular adventure was finished. Having seen his mistress safe down, Jack instantly descended, leaving the best part of his clothes, as a memorial of his flight, to the jailor. "I'll make a sketch, too," he said. Observe it—a blue-serge coat. ‘Ain’t no call for you to go a-blaming of yourself.
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