She was pleased and a little flattered by his interest and sympathy. But, no. Her knees almost sank beneath her as she raised the latch of the front door and looked out. But with returning breath came returning vociferations; and the carpenter, with a faint hope of lessening the clamour by change of scene, took up his lantern, opened the door, and walked out. Meysey Hill—never your wife. The water was cold but she waded deeper. At a little distance from the party, sat a tall, sinister-looking personage, with harsh inflexible features, a gaunt but muscular frame, and large bony hands. As the woollendraper's back was towards him, he did not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses. I change them in the morning at Cannon Street, and take my book as I come down.
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