" "But I've got to go!" insisted Rollo, in perfectly understandable dog-talk. 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. ” Ramage reflected. “Very likely. I never ran away from anywhere with anybody anywhen. And it has been well for you that he imagines the child was drowned.
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