The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Langley," rejoined Mrs. "We have him!" cried Jonathan, hurrying down the steps. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. Fly! fly!" "Do not think of me, mother, but of yourself," cried Jack, in an agony of tears.
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