Jack, meanwhile, with Blueskin's assistance, had set the table once more upon its legs, and placing writing materials, which he took from a shelf, upon it, made Shotbolt, who was still gagged, but whose arms were for the moment unbound, sit down before them. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. What's-your-name?" "Shotbolt, Sir," replied the jailer. Pull yourself together now. I’m going to that stupid party at the Vorsack’s to get to the bottom of it.
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