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Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. Jack fell on his knees beside her. . I can’t imagine Londoners—particularly interested in me. ” The detective turned again to Anna. “You need have no further trouble. Casting a hasty glance at the old and ruinous prison belonging to the liberty of the Bishop of Winchester (whose palace formerly adjoined the river), called the Clink, which gave its name to the street, along which he walked: and noticing, with some uneasiness, the melancholy manner in which the wind whistled through its barred casements, the carpenter followed his companion down an opening to the right, and presently arrived at the water-side. For a time they were very difficult. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. He needed to laugh, but only she laughed as he chuckled weakly.
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