Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. Have you done the trick at Dollis Hill?—brought off the swag—eh?" "No," answered Jack, flinging himself sullenly into a chair, "I've not. I will have nothing to do with you. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward.
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