The likeness was ridiculous. —You've your answer, Blueskin," he added, pushing that individual, who seemed unwilling to depart, towards the door; "it's useless to urge the matter further. He hung precariously on the ragged edge, but he hung there. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. "Stop thief!" roared Jonathan, who perceived the fugitive hurrying along a street towards Hatton Garden.
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