” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines. She felt a storm of emotion surging up within her. Quite ordinary. Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. 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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