" "Excuse me, Madam," replied the carpenter, turning his back upon her, and sinking into a chair: "Thames, my love, bring me my spectacles. "This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. He knew very well that his muscles were flabby, and his nerve by no means what it should be. Nevertheless, she was still fighting.
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