Having ascertained that Thames was at his heels, he hurried with his ghastly burthen down Seacoal Lane. Ruth crossed over to the dramatist of this tragicomedy and put a hand on his shoulder. I thought if you were living, and not captured, I should find you here,—and I was right. We shall both, I hope, live to enjoy our shares—long after Thames Darrell is forgotten—ha! ha! A third of your estate I accept. If it wasn’t for the fear that after all—but we won’t think of that. But that instinct is severely dampened most of the time.
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