" "Oh! let me die," groaned the widow. Her father for fifteen years, and you now for the rest of her life! Tell her you're a thief. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey. Gerald frowned. Brendon. Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me.
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