“I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. I came back to say, that I've placed your nephew in a coach; and, if you'll be at my lock in the Old Bailey an hour after midnight, you shall hear the last tidings of him. I have tried not to tell you—tried to be simply your friend. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch. ’ Upon which, she darted through the library door, galvanising both the sergeant and his two militiamen into action.
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