The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. Lest the carpenter should be taxed with too much uxoriousness, it behoves us to ascertain whether the personal attractions of his helpmate would, in any degree, justify the devotion he displayed. “I missed the hour of your release,” he said, “but I was at the Vindicator Restaurant. He remained listening attentively. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. ‘Looks like it.
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