Having ascertained that Thames was at his heels, he hurried with his ghastly burthen down Seacoal Lane. As she raised it, its lower portion fell apart into two baggy crimson masses. “Thank you—and good-bye. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection. ‘Sit down, won’t you?’ He crossed back to Roding and said low-voiced. Poor little one.
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