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"Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. The advanced guard rode on to drive away any opposition, while the main body of the procession crossed the bridge, and slowly toiled up Holborn Hill. I was being stupid. Sheppard made an effort to speak, but her voice was choked by emotion. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged.
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