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Danger, in the form he apprehended, was lurking outside: nor was he destined to enjoy long repose. Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. From a bi-secting street came shouting and music. His mother used to live i' this village, just down yonder; but when her son took to bad ways, she went distracted,—and now she's i' Bedlam, I've heerd. K-kimble, sir,’ stammered the lad. "Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. It was open.
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