“I’m six hundred and forty-eight, John, but guess how old I look? Fifteen. ‘I thought it was his great-nephew, young Brewis Charvill, who is his heir. Before a year has expired, you will share the same fate. " "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. Thinks they’re the same as soldiers. "Poor fellow! I'm glad he has escaped. " Starting at a rapid pace in the direction of the Old Bailey, and crossing Fleet Bridge, "for oyster tubs renowned," the trio skirted the right bank of the muddy stream until they reached Fleet Lane, up which they hurried.
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