The sky periodically pummeled her with hail pellets as she would pass through the deserted intersections. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street.
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