“What a hypocrite you are. One who steals. "Where are you going?" cried Thames, who, though wholly disencumbered, was scarcely able to keep up with him. He eyed the young couple with the tragic history behind them, and could only suppose that familiarity had dulled their senses. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. First, I went to Country Tom's, the Goat, in Long Lane.
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