"While I live you are safe," rejoined Trenchard; "after my death I can answer for nothing. "Your father said so before you," replied Jonathan, malignantly; "and yet it has tarried thus long. And Pottiswick, of course. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. A dressing-room then. There's my thumb upon it.
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