The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. . All the same, I don’t admit it. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. Nice goings on. I have one shilling and sevenpence halfpenny left. "Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole.
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