He answered with the greatest assurance, that he knew nothing whatever of the matter—had seen no pocket-book, and no associate to give up. A cry was then raised by the leaders to attack Wild's house, and the fury of the mob was instantly directed to that quarter. “I shall probably want you to come down to the ‘Unusual’ to-morrow morning,” he said. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided.
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