They were followed by Jonathan, who carried a stout stick under his arm, and planted himself near the stone. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. With a drawn cutlass in one hand and a cocked pistol in the other, Blueskin rushed up stairs. That’s really what I want to discuss.
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