. . “Please let me drive you home. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. During the narration Jack's features lighted up, and an expression, which would have been in vain looked for in repose, was instantly caught and depicted by the skilful artist. Besides these, there was a sturdylooking fellow, whom he instantly recognised as the honest blacksmith who had freed him from his irons at Tottenham.
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