The first was to break a dinner engagement. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. A mate? A brother-lover to tromp about the world with? “I cannot. Poor Ben was not so fortunate. "I have him!" cried a voice in triumph. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street. “None, I thank you,” he answered.
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