. She was correct, and when I went directly to the street she had named, there you were, walking into the Butcher Shop. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. "At the Black Lion in our street," replied Jack, without hesitation. “Oh, much better. The chamber rang with her shrieks. ” “Then you had better ring the bell,” she declared, laughing.
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