‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one. "Stop thief!" roared Jonathan, who perceived the fugitive hurrying along a street towards Hatton Garden. Men fled from their tottering habitations, and returned to them scared by greater dangers. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips.
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