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. Stanley, and paused. She was civil, but she was obviously impatient to know his errand. Fas du tout. But I won't be cheated of my prize. So I ran away, blindly, knowing nothing of the world outside.
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