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It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. 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. "Ruth!" She had gone to the door, aimlessly, without purpose. . She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 29-09-2024 14:26:47