Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street. ‘I find you excessively rude. "What's that you're saying about Jack Sheppard?" she cried. “Where am I?” he muttered. But there's a person in the hall—a very odd sort of man—waiting to see him, who won't be sent away.
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