"I assure you, Sir, when I left him an hour ago, it was locked. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. Perhaps marriage hurt. " "Better she die by her own hand, than by that monster's," cried Jack, brandishing the bar.
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