Visible underneath his collar were some metal tags. " "Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. Groping their way through one or two dark and mouldy-smelling vaults, the party ascended a flight of steps, which brought them to the hall. ‘You do not know how I am like my mother. You will be wearing your travelling dress, and no doubt you would prefer it. —Strype's Stow.
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