"Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. Grace-church Street was entirely deserted, except by a few stragglers, whose curiosity got the better of their fears; or who, like the carpenter, were compelled to proceed along it. “It is about your sister, Lady Ferringhall. ” “It is a conspiracy,” she exclaimed.
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