"My chickens are hatched, or, at least, nearly so," replied Shotbolt, with increased merriment. Grace-church Street was entirely deserted, except by a few stragglers, whose curiosity got the better of their fears; or who, like the carpenter, were compelled to proceed along it. Thus, more and more Ruth turned to the mongrel dog who bore the name of Rollo unflinchingly—the dog that adored her openly, shamelessly, who now without a whimper took his diurnal tubbing. " "But, mother, mayn't I sit up to see whether Thames returns?" implored Winifred.
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