She's fine. Before proceeding to Wych Street, he called at the Lodge to see how matters were going on, and found Mrs. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. These things did not harmonize with his conception of the forthcoming (if unavoidable) interview. "It won't do, widow," said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, "so you may spare your breath.
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