" "Ah, Jack," said Wood, shaking his head, "where there's a will there's a way. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. ‘Don’t put me at the necessity of marrying the abominable little wretch. ‘Sapristi,’ he shouted angrily. ‘It is in truth you?’ ‘Of course it is I. The Night-Cellar XVIII. "The ban-dogs!" thundered a tall man, whose stature and former avocations had procured him the nickname of "The long drover of the Borough market.
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