" As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. “You may not leave. ‘Pray do not trouble yourself, Saling. 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. “Please play something for us,” Carol asked, her eyes aglow. When I gave him an invitation to supper, I little thought he'd accept it.
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