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Somehow my coat was jerked off, the brest-pocket of which contained my pocket-book, and it parsed away like the brest pin. Then they sorter quietly hustled me into the street. It was about 12 at night when I reached the Green Lion. "Ha! ha! you sly old rascal, you've been up to larks!" said the lan'lord, larfin loudly, and digging his fist into my ribs.
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