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. “Dear husband,” she murmured. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. "I hear you plotting with your wicked associates," cried Mrs.
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