" "The link of the chain next the staple is sawn through," said Ireton, stooping to examine Blueskin's fetters. “It is too late for visitors,” she remarked. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. Tender with the sick, firm with the strong, fearless, with a body that had the resistance of iron, there was nothing of the hypocrite in him.
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