I had a sort of idea,” he went on, “that you were starting life all over again, and it seemed awfully plucky. —Strype's Stow. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street. I was standing near Jack at that awful moment, and beheld the look Wild fixed on him.
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