The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. All the money he earned—serving McClintock and the muse—could be laid away. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. “I won’t have you quarrelling and crying in the Avenue,” he said. " "Never mind," said the old sailor, taking up a piece of blazing coal with the tongs, and applying it to his pipe; "let 'em try. He passed his arm under that of the constable, and drew him aside.
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