Darting down Field-lane, Jack struck into a labyrinth of streets on the left; but though he ran as swiftly as he could, he was not unperceived. ‘But it is entirely myself,’ she exclaimed aloud. "We may trust him," he added in a whisper; "he is a staunch friend of the good cause. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself.
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