He awoke, strangely content. No mercenary consideration influences me. He went in and leaned, panting, against one wall. A film of dust lay upon it; the ink marks were ancient. Traversing Angel Court, and Green Arbour Court,—celebrated as one of Goldsmith's retreats,—he speedily reached Seacoal Lane, and pursuing the same course, which he and Thames had formerly taken, arrived at the yard at the back of Jonathan's habitation. Mike knocked on the door.
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