Just my room. The boy was coming around. CHAPTER XVIII. ’ Captain Roding grinned. 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. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor.
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