‘Good, good—and not before time,’ muttered Roding, glancing round again. Forgetting the dark thoughts of his last brush with the girl, he dropped the dagger back in his pocket, quickened his pace, and went back into the house to look for his hostess. There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. "My friends need not fear my return.
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