But he might have broken out of prison, and yet not got over the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell. ‘Rather thought I’d have to disarm you when you heard of it. Jack Kimble stiffened, looking at his interrogator with wary anger in his face. Where's the dining room? And, say, can I have some eggs? This jam-tea breakfast gets my goat. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. “No doubt about that, I fancy,” Meddoes answered lightly.
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