It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. The ragged edge. Wood. Did he see him, this Monsieur Charvill?’ ‘I don’t rightly know, miss,’ confessed Kimble. Ah Cum made a movement as though to follow, but reconsidered. "No Mohocks! No Scourers!" cried the mob. ’ ‘Perfectly correct, my boy.
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