But Jack was too well versed in the geography of the place to attempt either of them. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. “You do not know what you say. I'd like to be alone now.
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