"In Canton. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. ” “I know. ‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair. " "Surely, you haven't stolen it?" "Stolen's an awkward word. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. " "It is strange," replied Winifred, artlessly. “Happened! Oh, many things,” she declared indolently. The minute he discovers Roding here, he’ll know something is up. “Who, me? I scare you?” He asked. As the day wore on, the crowds diminished,—many who would not submit to the turnkey's demands were sent away ungratified,—and at five o'clock, only two strangers, Mr. Things you would laugh at.
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