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Wood, in equal trepidation. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter. "Sign this," he said, pushing the document towards Sir Rowland. He had shaved his side-whiskers and come over in flannels, but he was still indisputably the same person who had attended Ann Veronica for the measles and when she swallowed the fish-bone. For a stunned moment, Emile did not speak. You will find it somewhere in that book.
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