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The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. "What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on. " "I feel it," replied Jack, in a tone of agony, "and I feel it more on my poor mother's account than my own. " "Won't my life do as well as his?" supplicated the other. A moment before, the surface of the stream was black as ink.
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