All at once her heart began to patter queerly. Her eyes were lit with mirth, the corners of her mouth quivered. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. Immediately Spurlock began to chant one of these. The cage at Willesden was, and is—for it is still standing—a small round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants and other disorderly persons, are attached. "This she-devil has got hold of the sack. “In Paris.
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