Happy Thanksgiving. One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. Acquainted with every part of the jail, Jack well knew that his only chance of effecting an escape must be by the roof. ’ She advanced towards him.
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