" "We'll see that, young hempseed," replied Sharples, shutting the hatch furiously in his face, and locking it. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath. “Number 13, please, cabman. My mother, I'm sure, didn't intend to hurt your feelings. " "Sir Rowland Trenchard!" echoed Jack, in amazement. Aunt Jane had her quiet moments.
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