He listened to the thunder of the fall now mingling with the roar of the blast; and, driven almost frantic by what he heard and saw, he pushed with all his force against the stone. "'Odd's-my-life!—what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. "This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs.
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