"Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. ’ ‘No, perhaps not,’ Gerald agreed with a smile. . . “I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said. “Want to see the upstairs?” “Sure. Since Jack has left us, what does it matter whether he's pleased or not?" At this moment, a whistle was heard. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. He pushed her to his bed, little more than a cot, and pulled off her clothes.
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