Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. "I told you the prison wasn't built that could hold me," cried Jack. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation web page at http://www.
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