" In an angle of the Stone Hall was the Iron Hold, a chamber containing a vast assortment of fetters and handcuffs of all weights and sizes. Do you know this, Sir?" he added, taking a key from his pocket. But it never said: "Tell someone! Tell someone!" Was he something of a moral pervert, then? Was it what he had lost—the familiar world—rather than what he had done? He stared dully at the footrail. You may not know it, but it's easier to find a guy that's gone far than it is when he lays dogo in little old New York.
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