" The elderly domestic bowed, took up the case, and retired. Strange gurgle-like noises emanated from the crypt. "At the Black Lion in our street," replied Jack, without hesitation. Most of the vessels lying in the river were driven from their moorings, dashed tumultuously against each other, or blown ashore. “Go to the far corner,” he said, “and sing the last verse of Les Petites.
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