“I will wait for you on the pavement, if you like,” he said, “but I am going to the ‘Unusual’ with you. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. His diminutive hand flew out from behind his back like a wounded bird. The next moment, an exclamation was heard in the voice of Thames.
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