Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. There was all the knavery, and more than all the drollery of a Spanish picaroon in the laughing eyes of the English apprentice; and, with a little more warmth and sunniness of skin on the side of the latter, the resemblance between them would have been complete. "There's no outlet that way. I ask you, although it is not my place to ask you, to return home.
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