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. Mrs. Lucy treaded down two steps, stunned. The female’s words caught at his attention, and he no longer heard what the young Poussaint girl was saying to him. He had not had time to aim the pistol.
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