The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. "How are you off there, Shoplatch?" inquired Kneebone. Ireton," cried Jack, in accents of the most urgent entreaty, "before you take me hence, I implore you—if you would further the ends of justice—search this house. "There is nobody else. “So you’d best open your coffers.
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