Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. "Get from under it, Jack!" vociferated Thames. Evidently her foresight has saved me a funeral. ’ They moved to the door, while the lady shrugged, and then seated herself, glancing from the window into the street below, and then turning again to watch them in their huddle at the other side of the library.
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