" "Why, what'll you do?" demanded the turnkey. The carpet was a quiet drugget and not excessively worn, and the bed in the corner was covered by a white quilt. And so bitterly did the carpenter reproach himself with his neglect, that he resolved, at all risks, to go back in search of it. From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment. He stood still, almost breathless. "Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone.
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