All the turnkeys rose to salute the thief-taker, whose habitually-sullen countenance looked gloomier than usual. ‘I want a word with you, my lad. A row of magnificent, and even then venerable, elms threw their broad arms over this pleasant spot. “Come in here a moment, will you, Blanche,” he said. “Hill’s confession will finally refute a number of absurd stories which have been in circulation during the last few days. But it was hopelessly hard to put. Killed is too kind a word. Jack's nose was broad and flat; Darrell's straight and fine as that of Antinous.
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