Anna turned round with a start, which was almost of guilt, the poker still in her hand. “Number 13, please, cabman. She looked steadfastly out. It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron. "Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. The moon had arisen, and everything could be as plainly distinguished as during the day.
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