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’ ‘Get rid of the wench,’ Roding said brutally. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. Pile it on! But if you can hear the voice of the mote, the speck, don't let her suffer for anything I've done. "Jonathan has threatened to do her some mischief. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. Master, your humble servant. Wood!—no," replied the turnkey.
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