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CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. The train, meantime, had passed Marylebone Lane, when it again paused for a moment, at Jack's request, near the door of a public-house called the City of Oxford. We'll turn the tables upon 'em yet. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that. ” She removed some posters from a chair, and seated herself coolly. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. Wood. If I am to die in the attempt, then so be it. ’ For the space of half a minute, Gerald continued to scowl in silent frustration. But the great point was still unaccomplished.
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