So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill. Near the body, which, it will be surmised, was that of Abraham Mendez, two ruffianly personages were seated, quietly smoking, and bestowing no sort of attention upon the new-comers. Kneebone's habitation, the shutters of which were closed, and knocked at the door. “Wise! Kind! What mockery words are! I came because I had to. I can bear anything but suspense.
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