He lowered her neck before her, and she noticed a bizarre urge to bite him rising from her mind like an itch. Satisfied, as he thought, that he had nothing to apprehend, the boy resumed his task, chanting, as he plied his knife with redoubled assiduity, the following—not inappropriate strains:— THE NEWGATE STONE. ‘Don’t tell me. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea.
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