" "And do you think I'll allow you to depart," cried Jonathan in a menacing tone, "and compromise my safety? No, no. It had ceased to beat. After knocking for some time at the door without effect, he tried the latch, and to his surprise found it open. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. Figg?" said Jack, peevishly. You know—I wish I could roll my little body up small and squeeze it into your hand and grip your fingers upon it.
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