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. “Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. ” “Come, Molly,” said Mr. She laughed a little contemptuously.
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