A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. Unconscious that his movements were watched, Shotbolt, meanwhile, hastened towards Wych Street. Jackson took an accurate survey of the room with his one eye, Mr. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. Gentlemen! a glass of brandy will be no bad finish to our meal.
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