take it slow. 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. “Dinner is served, ma’am,” he announced to Mrs. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. I can’t love you.
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