As he gazed down into the courts of the prison, he could not help shuddering, lest a false step might precipitate him below. "Lend a hand with the ruffles, Blueskin!" he shouted, as that personage, who had just recovered from the stunning effects of the blow, contrived to pick himself up. Ruth loved him. The boy was right. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street.
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