The bridge was open. "Is it gold?" "Pure gold," replied Kneebone. Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door. The chief influence was her awakening sense of the need of money. And so gentle as the poor creature is, when she's not in her wild fits—it would melt a heart of stone to see her. And that would spoil it.
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