"The pocket-book you prigged contained the letters I wanted. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel. “All of which doesn’t help me in the slightest degree to pay back that money. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. His tongue was hot.
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