From the sounds of it, he was better off dead. Spurlock went, it would not be far enough. "Never mind," replied the tapstress. There was a murmur or two among the watchers on the bench, but no one ventured to intervene again. 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.
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