The glance, which he threw at the door, was singularly expressive of his character: it was a mixture of alarm, effrontery, and resolution. "I'm tired of the life I'm leading. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. CHAPTER XIX. " "Never!" cried Mrs. Furious shouting, and the thunder of running feet. In one of these seats, at the end of the aisle farthest removed from the chancel, the widow took her place, and addressed herself fervently to her devotions.
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