6. " "Perhaps, I wasn't," returned Thames, gloomily, as the remembrance of Jonathan Wild's foul insinuation crossed him. She laid her hand upon his arm. She seemed to have no idea whatever of the emotional states that were becoming to her age and position. His next occupation was to take out his pistols, examine the priming, and rub the flints. He was helpful, but gravely dubious. " At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. She sighed with relief. org/1/6/2/1/16215/ Produced by Jason Isbell, Ben Beasley and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.
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