"Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. It was cramped even at the end of the passage. Be so good as to let me pass, sir,” she added, looking her obstructor steadily in the face. Lost, stolen, or strayed, the Young Person!. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray.
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