After a while, he raised his eyes; and, if their glance could have been witnessed at the moment, it could not have been easily forgotten. He sent a speculative glance at the immobile yellow face. Mr. Thames Street was wholly impassable. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. " "Hold your tongue, sirrah," rejoined Shotbolt, not over-pleased by the remark, "and mind what I tell you. “You’re.
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