All the same, I don’t admit it. Lucy entered the house by picking the back door lock with the slim jim. The likeness was ridiculous. His grip twisted her wrist. And yet—Wait a little, you’d better have every bit of it. This occasioned a little delay; but Jack, whose skill as a workman in the particular line he had chosen was unequalled, and who laughed at difficulties, speedily cut out a panel by means of a centre-bit and knife, took the key from the other side, and unlocked the door. Perhaps there were experiences she would never confide to any man. Yet you make our Bohemianism seem like a vulgar thing.
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