If I were Mr. Fetter Lane, on the left, Gray's Inn, on the right, added their supplies. With his chisel so fine, tra la! "There!" cried the boy, leaping from the stool, and drawing back a few paces on the bench to examine his performance,—"that'll do. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day.
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