But it was hopelessly hard to put. "As it's getting late, and the porter may be gone to bed," he observed; "I'll take the pass-key, and let myself in. She’s taken my sword. The kind of man who isn’t content with his science, and writes articles in the monthly reviews. Entering London, he bent his way towards the west-end; and having some knowledge of a secondhand tailor's shop in Rupert Street, proceeded thither, and looked out a handsome suit of mourning, with a sword, cloak, and hat, and demanded the price.
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