His name was Marvel, and his avocation, which was as repulsive as his looks, was that of public executioner. “Please search everywhere,” she said. Her faithful servant struggled, with her assistance, to rise. His spirits revived, and encouraging himself with the idea that the present impediment, though the greatest, was the last, he set himself seriously to consider how it might best be overcome. Opposite to her was a sallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge of obtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar. ‘I’m not going to arrest you, young Jack—yet. "It's too late to carry 'em before a magistrate now, Sir Rowland; so, with your permission, I'll give 'em a night's lodging in Saint Giles's round-house.
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