. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. Dorling said deferentially. While involved in this crowd, near Temple Bar, —where the thoroughfare was most dangerous from the masses of ruin that impeded it,—an individual, whose swarthy features recalled to the carpenter one of his tormentors of the previous night, collared him, and, with bitter imprecations accused him of stealing his child. He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing. The door was too strong, and too well secured, to break open,—the walls too thick: but the ceiling,—if he could reach it—there, he doubted not, he could make an outlet. He did not like it, he said, with a significant look, to be reminded of either his books or his dinners after he had done with them. ‘Yes, very rude,’ agreed the major. . " As he said this, the carpenter patted the cheek of the little object of his benevolent professions, and, in so doing, unintentionally aroused him from his slumbers.
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