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ToC Monday, the 31st of August 1724,—a day long afterwards remembered by the officers of Newgate,—was distinguished by an unusual influx of visitors to the Lodge. Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thénardiers. He had a quick, shrewd, merry eye, and a look in which duplicity was agreeably veiled by good humour. This incredible scene robbed him of the sense of locomotion. ‘Now then, Gerald, out with it. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. “I cannot reason with you,” he said at last wearily.
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