I don’t know. ” “Do you drink blood?” He stood up. “Mine is a primitive and unstudied manner. But how am I to know of things?” “Some things I hope you may never know,” he said. He died when I was. 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.
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