"Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. He looked at it with uplifted eyebrows, but made no remark. “Freedom! Citizenship! And the way to that—the way to everything—is the Vote. If it came at all, it was as fleeting as the girl's smile. 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. "Do you think I'm afeard of a beggarly thief-taker and his myrmidons? Not I. " "Very. “I saw—they knocked off your fetters yesterday.
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