“I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. Unlocking several doors, he came to a dark vault, that would have rivalled the gloomiest cell in Newgate, into which he thrust Thames, and fastened the door. Her momentary instinct was to run to him and be comforted, like the old times. The room was intimate and wonderful to her with its shadows now cast over the girlish menagerie of stuffed animals. Distress like hers might palliate far greater offences than she ever committed. “You, too,” he said abruptly.
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