He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing. 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. " "Who is he?" asked Thames impatiently. I shall be delighted to rescue you.
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