Anna stood looking down upon her sister with grave perturbed face. Her teeth were chattering so hard that she had to clench them for fear of biting off her own tongue. Wood, glancing angrily at her husband. He had not bothered to take off his raincoat and his umbrella sat dripping on his modern ice cube of a table. "Your son," replied Jack,—"your miserable, repentant son. " Starting at a rapid pace in the direction of the Old Bailey, and crossing Fleet Bridge, "for oyster tubs renowned," the trio skirted the right bank of the muddy stream until they reached Fleet Lane, up which they hurried.
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