The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. She would always be waiting upon this boy, he mused. It was decrepit and too large. I’ve to collect my sword and hat, and then we must get back to London. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter.
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