‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. . . "Farewell!" cried Jack, breaking from them, and rushing down the street. From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment. "Perhaps you don't know that this Darrell so contrived matters, that your child should be mistaken for his own; by which means it had a narrow escape from a tight cravat, I can assure you.
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