"Hear me," he cried, restraining himself with difficulty. Now lend me your own hand. The room they were in was a sort of closet, with the door locked outside; but this was only a moment's obstacle to Jack, who with a chisel forced back the bolt. “You are coming my way,” Courtlaw answered. The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. Besides this, the door was crossed and recrossed by iron bars, clenched by broad-headed nails.
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