“And this is Mr. “That’s not. CHAPTER XII. Mike and Shari sat at the kitchen table eating potato chips. “I thought you weren’t keeping up to the mark. They have rescued the child. Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes. Mr. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. After a certain amount of manœuvring, however, he was induced to crawl around, and in a few minutes came to stop again before a tall brightly-painted house, which seemed like an oasis of colour and assertive prosperity in a long dingy row. But there's a person in the hall—a very odd sort of man—waiting to see him, who won't be sent away. “Mr.
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