"Is it gold?" "Pure gold," replied Kneebone. And I have no more the pistol. Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. Here was a hole as wide as a church-door. ” “How?” “Well—a little clumsily.
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