" "Perhaps, I wasn't," returned Thames, gloomily, as the remembrance of Jonathan Wild's foul insinuation crossed him. Indignation carried her through that night, that men and the world could so entreat her. The well of tears in her eyes was dry. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back.
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