The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible.
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