" "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. Kneebone was attired in the extremity of the mode. Not entirely. "Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. I didn’t ought to have sent for him.
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