He then scaled the northern tower, and made his way to the summit of that part of the prison which fronted Giltspur Street. “How old are you?” “Sixteen. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. ‘Oh, peste.
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