He has no imagination, no real generosity. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. The novel danger of the situation enthralled him. While involved in this crowd, near Temple Bar, —where the thoroughfare was most dangerous from the masses of ruin that impeded it,—an individual, whose swarthy features recalled to the carpenter one of his tormentors of the previous night, collared him, and, with bitter imprecations accused him of stealing his child.
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