. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. Denis. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. ‘Certainly no one will find it.
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