"What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on. The coolies proceeded at a swinging, mincing trot, which gave to the suspended seat a dancing action similar to that of a suddenly agitated hangingspring of a birdcage. When I've escorted you proud fool to his new quarters, I'll proceed to the Mint and look after Jack Sheppard. I am a man—of a sort of experience. He sent me home.
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