Kevin Chen, Martin’s father, was equally stately, his dark brown eyes bright with the fire of extreme intelligence. ‘I do not know him. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. "Where?" she cried. "You are my prisoner, Jack. Ramage?” he asked. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. Originally built, as its name imports, in a cylindrical form, like a modern Martello tower, it had undergone, from time to time, so many alterations, that its symmetry was, in a great measure, destroyed. You have been burning paper, I see. The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. I had no curiosity of that kind.
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