If my conjectures are right, this boy would stay there indefinitely. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. He was so depressed and disheartened that he did not then believe he would ever write again. At times I swear I’ve never met a more jaded fifteen-year-old, and your lie about being sixteen didn’t get by me for one second, believe it. Hist!" cried he, as a scream was heard from without. Only one penny—two copies—two pence—thank you, Sir. Martin's on Ludgate-hill, and Christchurch in Newgate Street, were also distinguishable. ’ Martha frowned.
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