What's-your-name?" "Shotbolt, Sir," replied the jailer. The place was gloomy, with its darkly panelled walls, but it was sparsely furnished. "You can no longer refuse to tell me the name of this youth's father, Aliva," he said. Papillon would have broken him down; anything tender would have sapped his will; and like as not he would have left the stool and rushed into the night. He succeeded so well that they were almost in Montague Street before Anna stopped short.
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