" On a shelf was placed a row of paint-jars; the contents of which had been daubed in rainbow streaks upon the adjacent closet and window sill. He had scarcely entered the arch, when the indraught was so violent, and the noise of the wind so dreadful and astounding, that he almost determined to relinquish the undertaking. . ‘I live in Kent. I somehow understood. ’ ‘Well, sir? Who is “she”? Not my granddaughter, I take it. "No von," replied the Jew. ‘You do not use your head, Emile,’ she said flatly. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat.
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