"I have not many days,—perhaps, not many hours to live. I’m afraid I’m a terribly clumsy fellow. He had no wish to go foraging in Spurlock's trunk. She was nestled under his bedspread. Wood. 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.
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