Jack, meanwhile, with Blueskin's assistance, had set the table once more upon its legs, and placing writing materials, which he took from a shelf, upon it, made Shotbolt, who was still gagged, but whose arms were for the moment unbound, sit down before them. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. “You could tell me but you’d have to kill me?” He asked with a sardonic grin on his face.
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