He allowed his irons and clothes to be taken off without resistance. His firmness never deserted him till his old master, Mr. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. So far as I am concerned, I am just now a hopeless nonentity.
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