She ran towards the arched stone door, her mouth forming an “O” of surprise as she realized that she was in the high turret of an ocean side castle. Before a word could be said, however, a slight noise was heard in the chimney, and Jack with his irons on descended from it. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. Amid a litter of nails without heads, screws without worms, and locks without wards, lay a glue-pot and an oilstone, two articles which their owner was wont to term "his right hand and his left.
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