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Her father intercepted her, and for a moment she and he struggled with their hands upon the latch. While involved in this crowd, near Temple Bar, —where the thoroughfare was most dangerous from the masses of ruin that impeded it,—an individual, whose swarthy features recalled to the carpenter one of his tormentors of the previous night, collared him, and, with bitter imprecations accused him of stealing his child. Once again, he passed his hand over the surface and carefully noted all the obstacles. “I have a letter for you, and no end of messages.
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