No matter how many books one read, each was different, as each human being was different. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. 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.
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