"What?—help take care of him? Why, you can't do that, Miss Enschede!" was the protest. Pure luck! If the boy had grown a moustache or a beard, a needle in the haystack would have been soft work. He was about to cut the sergeant short, when his eye fell on a gentleman walking along Piccadilly, his manner uncertain, his eyes shifting as if he sought something out. “And yet in a very few weeks I shall have done with it all.
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