Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. He was so seldom wrong. A glance satisfied Jonathan that the turnkey was not aware of the prisoner's escape; and he resolved not to destroy what he considered a good jest, by a premature disclosure of it. "What of that," rejoined Jonathan. Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. Where the stuff came from was always a mystery.
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