’ Gerald grinned. . “Oh! I wish,” she said, “that people thought alike about these things. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. There are way-stations—even terminals. But I have not done so, and will not. ‘If you’ll have the goodness, missie, to move yourself out of the way,’ he said aggrievedly, ‘and let us at him, we might have a chance of doing just that. To write under a pseudonym!—to be forced to disown his children! He could not write under his own name, enjoy the fruits of fame should these tales prove successful. Through this confusion the carpenter struggled on;—now ascending, now descending the different mountains of rubbish that beset his path, at the imminent peril of his life and limbs, until he arrived in Fleet Street.
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