When the turnkey, next morning, stepp'd into his room, The sight of the hole in the wall struck him dumb; The sheriff's black bracelets lay strewn on the ground, But the lad that had worn 'em could nowhere be found. "Beat down their blades," cried the Master; "no bloodshed. "They have ever since been deposited in a place of safety. He felt hands tugging at him, mysterious creatures with long fingers and sharp nails that pulled at his flesh.
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