" "Thank'ee, Sir," grinned Sheppard. I ——” He stopped short. "Then I'll have it before to-morrow morning," said the keeper of the New Prison, to himself. ” With a swift movement she gained the bell and rang it. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. “Look at our clothes,” she exclaimed, “and besides, the funny little proprietor has gone down himself to help it along. And when there is no longer any need to use it, why then, enough you say—and throw it away. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street.
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