CHAPTER XXXII. Jack's life hangs on your determination. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. ‘I broke in. You're alone, too, child.
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