While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles. He was about to cut the sergeant short, when his eye fell on a gentleman walking along Piccadilly, his manner uncertain, his eyes shifting as if he sought something out. ’ ‘What?’ ‘Neat little toy. If you talk of your faults, I shall talk of your splendors. “John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. " "Have it, and welcome," rejoined Figg.
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