Books were always sliding and slipping, clumsy objects to hold. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. Starting off at a rapid pace, Jack dashed down Turnagain-lane, skirted the eastern bank of Fleet-ditch, crossed Holborn Bridge, and began to ascend the neighbouring hill. He stood transfixed. "Hold hard," cried he, addressing the waterman; "I'll give the gentleman a lift.
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