And because he knew it was a burden, there was no gaiety upon the doctor's face; neither was there speech on his tongue. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. “Let us sit down for a moment,” he had said.
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