Upstairs, in the little dressing-room, the panel was opened by means of tugging a small candlesconce in the wall. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. But if his frame was immature, his looks were not so. “These are the playgrounds of life. "Where is my mother?" he added, regarding the knight with a searching glance. There was plenty of sweet water.
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