Slowly descending Snow Hill, the train passed on its way, attended by the same stunning vociferations, cheers, yells, and outcries, which had accompanied it on starting from Newgate. The man, who was just able to move, pointed towards Giltspur-street. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. As it was, my oldest and trustiest setter, Abraham Mendez, received a blow on the head from one of the lads that will deprive me of his services for a week to come,—if, indeed it does not disable him altogether. CHAPTER X. He can't play cards, either, when he's sober.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 24-09-2024 15:42:19