Sydney sprang up. “To the best of my belief, I have not a single English acquaintance in the city. Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. Darting down Field-lane, Jack struck into a labyrinth of streets on the left; but though he ran as swiftly as he could, he was not unperceived. "And now," cried Jack, leaping up, "for an achievement, compared with which all I have yet done shall be as nothing!" CHAPTER XVII.
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