“I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. "Confusion! the rascal must have picked my pocket of your letters," whispered Kneebone, "What's to be done?" "What's to be done! Why, I'm undone! How imprudent in you not to burn them. Steeples toppled, and towers reeled beneath its fury. "Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone.
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