"Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. So many distresses— so many joys coming at the same time are too much for me. “I can’t conceive what you want. "Put down your burthen, monster!" shouted Wood, pointing an immense blunderbuss at him. Wood, at the top of her voice. "Well, what sort of journey have you had, Quilt?" asked the man as he hastened to assist Sir Rowland to dismount.
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