He used to live in a boarding-house in Russell Square. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. Wood, carving for his friends, and pledging the carpenter, he had his hands full. ‘You will not believe any of my very clever lies. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath.
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