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Wood, however, made known his presence to the individual by laying his hand upon his shoulder. Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar. ‘There’s no controlling you, is there?’ He held up his hands. 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. " "It matters not, Norris," replied Lady Trafford: "I would rather die on the road, than be exposed to another such scene as I have just encountered.
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