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“My charm of manner, I suppose. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. Even her memories of he who had frequented her life for the longest period of years were worn and fading. When a mere child she fixed her affections upon a youth named Thames Darrell, whom her father brought up, and who perished, it is supposed, about nine years ago; and she has determined to remain faithful to his memory. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. " "'Ouns!" ejaculated Terence, in alarm, "would you turn snitch on your old pal, Quilt?" "Ay, if he plays a-cross," returned Quilt. "Take her," cried Jonathan; and, flinging the now inanimate body of the poor widow, who had fainted in the struggle, into the arms of Thames, he leapt through the window, and by the time the latter could consign her to Wood, and dart after him, he had disappeared. She lived, he noted, very carelessly. She must weigh her situation.
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