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. ’ Mrs Sindlesham’s mouth dropped open. God, how old are they now? They must be teenagers. ’ ‘Will you have done, Gerald?’ demanded Hilary, exasperated. The Procession to Tyburn. “None, I thank you,” he answered.
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