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E. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. Get on, do. "The shoulder-clappers!" added a lady, who, in her anxiety to join the party, had unintentionally substituted her husband's nether habiliments for her own petticoats. She stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, and lost the thread of what she was saying. "Forgive me—oh, forgive me!" "Forgive you—bless you!" she gasped. It is possible she is dangerous, and the police are looking into several cold murder cases where she may have been involved. And then—this sudden thrust. “Or I wouldn’t have said anything about it.
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