His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost something of its ruddy freshness. She looked at him as he thrust deeply, his face contorted with pleasure as he watched her riding him. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. . Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. "Do you wish to earn a rich reward, my good friend?" said Thames to the watchman, as soon as they were left alone.
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