Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. He forgot Annabel’s idle attempts at love-making, all the cul-de-sac gallantry of the moment. "Vat ish it, Mishter Vild?" inquired Mendez. Not at all. This "fatal retreat for the unfortunate brave" was marked by a low wooden railing, within which stood the triple tree. "To Newgate," cried Jonathan, putting his head out of the window.
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