" "No," thundered Wild. Hollo rumbled in his throat. In the midst of the holy place, which he had formerly profaned, lay the body of his unfortunate mother, and he could not help looking upon her untimely end as the retributive vengeance of Heaven for the crime he had committed. She could not stir hand or foot. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street.
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