It is better that you go away now, I think. "Oh God!" exclaimed Jack, in a tone of the bitterest anguish. 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. Maggot, who promptly interposed her cudgel.
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