“I won’t have you quarrelling and crying in the Avenue,” he said. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. Relief flooded her. ’ Melusine’s arm crept up around his neck. 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.
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