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The latch came with a weak click. “I am lonely. "The Dawn Pearl," he said. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. What were you doing at Remenham House? I can’t puzzle that bit out. Nothing seemed to be amiss. Here, Peter," he added to a curly-headed lad, who was playing on one of the grassy tombs, "ask your father to step this way.
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