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He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. Having secured this,—for he was almost famished,—he said that he had lost a hammer and wished to purchase one. Pottiswick had mentioned muttering. "And had you been the worst scoundrel unhung, I'd have seen to it that you had the same care, the same chance.
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