With trembling fingers she opened the post-bag. The prisoner was then thrust in by Quilt. But beyond "amicable agreement in which mutual concessions are made," the word "compromise" was as blank as the Canton wall at night. She also knew that he was the type who would not make a single physical overture until she pushed the correct buttons. "A capital instrument for my purpose," thought Jack, shouldering it, "and worth all the trouble I have had in procuring it.
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