" "Not now," returned Thames, impatiently. "Some dreadful deed is about to be committed, which I may perhaps prevent," muttered Jack to himself. Fresh flowers of loveliness have budded, expanded, died. She rehearsed the story of her forlorn long lost mother in her head, what she would say to the theorymongers. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. If a cart were coming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape was impossible.
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