Close behind him stood the tall gaunt figure of Marvel, with his large bony hands, his scraggy neck, and ill-favoured countenance. The door was too strong, and too well secured, to break open,—the walls too thick: but the ceiling,—if he could reach it—there, he doubted not, he could make an outlet. The conflict was of short duration; for Shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist. It was the beginning and the end of the transaction. "Are you answered?" said Jonathan, with a grin worthy of a demon. "Why you wouldn't stand in the way of his good fortune surely? I'll be a second father to him, I tell you.
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