His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. Perhaps it was just as well there was no inherited memory. Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. He shot at me at the ‘Unusual,’ and the magistrates bound him over to keep the peace. Once they were on the move, Kimble seemed to find strength from somewhere. About nine o'clock, an immense mob collected before the Lodge at Newgate.
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