‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair. Without her, it was lonely. At this moment she was staring ahead; and again came the opportunity to study her. I thought one had only to take it by the throat. 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.
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