But I will go. Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me. Lucy sighed. There was some justification for her annoyance, for negotiation of the secret passage demanded either a stout heart, or a desperate one.
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