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Sheppard's habitation terminated a row of old ruinous buildings, called Wheeler's Rents; a dirty thoroughfare, part street, and part lane, running from Mint Street, through a variety of turnings, and along the brink of a deep kennel, skirted by a number of petty and neglected gardens in the direction of Saint George's Fields. Put out your hand and bid me God-speed. You'll live to hate chicken; and the man in you will rise up and demand strong drink. “I can’t conceive what you want. For some time after he was locked up in this prison Jack continued in a very dejected state. I am going to take you entirely at your word. No, never mind about thanking me. ‘No, let me guess,’ he interrupted.
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