Wood at Dollis Hill, was assaulted and half-killed by a party of ruffians, headed, he swore, by Mr. A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. So, by way of gaining time, he resolved to question him further. The chamber, into which he stole, like all carpenters' workshops, was crowded with the implements and materials of that ancient and honourable art.
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