I am no one, Gérard. Spurling was no longer allowed to visit him; he was again loaded with irons; fastened by an enormous horse-padlock to a staple in the floor; and only allowed to take repose in a chair. It’s odd how little I know of him, and of how he feels and what he feels. It was Jack, wasn’t it?’ ‘Aye, s-sir. Wasting no time, he crossed straight to the shutters and opened them.
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