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He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. Amongst others, the watchman whose box was placed against the churchyard wall, near the entrance to Shoe-lane, rushed out and sprung his rattle, which was immediately answered by another rattle from Holborn-bars. "It is addressed to my mother," he added, as his eye glanced rapidly over it, "and by my father. ‘In that case, he is probably already dead, and you have nothing to worry about. ‘I don’t want a hue and cry after me, I thank you. Though nearly dark, there was still light enough left to enable him to discern surrounding objects. Come with me to the Condemned Hold directly, and, if I find my fears confirmed, I'll—" He was here interrupted by the sudden entrance of the black, who rushed precipitately into the room, letting fall the heavy bunch of keys in his fright.
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