The room in which she sat was a portion of the garret, assigned, as we have just stated, by Mr. Run along now; but return in half an hour. “Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. The shouts, yells, and groans which they uttered, and which were echoed by the concourse in the rear, were perfectly frightful. "Leave me to my fate," rejoined Jack.
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