You shall tell me if I am wrong. ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. Presently, however, a sudden movement occurred, and disclosed his features, which were those of a young man of nearly his own age. To simplify matters, he carried a coloured paper lantern upon which his license number was painted in Arabic numerals. I don’t believe any one could have traced us here. There was no mistaking his intentions this time.
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