Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. ” There came a silence again. ” “I know,” said Manning, nodding gravely. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane.
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