” She said. Why don’t I just go and get the key from Pottiswick?’ Alderley flicked a glance back at him over his shoulder. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. 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. ” The idea struck him as novel. He knocked at the door. .
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