"Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause. . You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. I’ll have to make a visit out of town. Oh, and weeks and months of thought and feeling there are bottled up too. Wood fancied he recognised.
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