‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. 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. You shall hear from me to-morrow. There was hope for me then. ” “There was no need for such heroism,” Annabel said coldly.
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