"Lor' ha' mussy, Sir!—how you do talk," said the woman; "this is no robber, I'm sure. "Wretch!" cried Jack. If he ran less risk of being blown over, he stood a much greater chance of being washed off, or stifled. It was impossible. The atmosphere seemed heavy with the odour of drugs. There was a strip of old rose brocade in the making that set an ache in the girl's heart for the want of it. I understand. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey.
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