"It only leads to the fencing crib," replied Wild. The poor widow was thrown into an agony of distress on learning that a robbery had been committed, in which her son (for she could not doubt that Jack was one of the boys,) was implicated; nor was her anxiety alleviated by Mrs. Ennison’s signet-ring had cut nearly to the bone. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. I’m a man, and I know what I mean.
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