His face fell. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street. She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck. That was the inconvenience of it; her head was swimming. ‘You don’t believe her?’ ‘My dear Major Alderley, I do not know her,’ Mrs Sindlesham pointed out. ‘You wish a reason for jealousy? Eh bien, you may have it.
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