" "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. It’s like this: You want freedom. He reached for her, and she struck savagely. I know London better than you, and I have had to earn my own living. But here the resemblance stopped.
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