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. Well, I told aunt. And he liked her. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—of that I am assured. Voilà tout. Or, better still, put all my clothes in the trunk. I bring you tidings of an old friend. See? You marry me.
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