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If you had lived twenty years ago you would have been called a Young Person, and it would have been your chief duty in life not to know, never to have heard of, and never to understand. By this time, the procession had reached the west end of the wall of St. "My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. "That's your hunting ground," said the doctor. Wood," cried David, pouring out a glass of the spirit, and offering it to the carpenter, "that'll warm the cockles of your heart. Strange, I shouldn't know him when he called on me. But what's to be done?" "The first thing I do," replied Jack, "will be to visit my poor mother in Bedlam.
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