Ruth, standing by, heard his true laughter for the first time. She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 25-09-2024 21:33:48