Decidedly this was imbecile. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it. There he sat as before, with the heavy fetters on his limbs, and beside him sat his three companions, who had since expiated their offences on the gibbet. It's gin—a liquor you used to like. The latter haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted, into a chair. My parents would have given me the money, so that is exactly why I didn’t ask them. He has escaped.
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