It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. Tender with the sick, firm with the strong, fearless, with a body that had the resistance of iron, there was nothing of the hypocrite in him. With this view he struck off into a narrow street on the left, and soon entered a small alehouse, over the door of which hung the sign of the "Welsh Trumpeter. I have Remenham House which is my right. \" They talked until midnight most nights. Mr.
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