"You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter. “Do you think he’s still around?” She paused thoughtfully. . It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and profoundly dark. . Mother and Son.
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