"Mother—dear mother!" said Jack, bursting into tears. The latter formed by far the most knavish-looking and unprepossessing portion of the assemblage. CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. ‘Do you think I could endure to hear you prattling your abominable French in my ear day by day? Enough to drive me straight into my grave. ’ She turned, her eyes narrowed. Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. She creaked, groaned, and rattled; but that was only her way of yawning when she awoke.
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