"Every brick I take out," cried Jack, as fresh rubbish clattered down the chimney, "brings me nearer my mother. "I'm glad to hear it, that's all," he added, taking out his snuff-box, his never-failing resource in such emergencies. It consisted, like pre-Roman Gaul, of three parts. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. Please tell me what your terms are.
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