“I think,” he said, “that I would fetch any one whom he has asked to see. 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. Annabel, I cannot believe it. ’ ‘No, of course you could not,’ Gerald soothed. I’ll try to stay as long as I can. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him.
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