The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. “You did your best to kill me,” he said. " "No, no! I have had wicked thoughts. Spurling and Marvel rose too. You know the sort of thing. ” “You can’t be killed?” He asked. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON.
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