Mr. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. "My mother!—my poor mother!" ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees, and bursting into tears. Wood fancied he recognised. . She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. And, then, forsooth, she must needs prevent your hanging Jack Sheppard after the robbery in Wych Street, when you might have done so.
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