John’s father brought down a violin from a high closet shelf. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. ‘Do not mix yourself in mine, and perhaps you will not die. Gentlemen, I am proud to say that I originated—that I directed those measures. I have Remenham House which is my right.
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