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. His conscience, however, was entirely another affair. ‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship. He bowed awkwardly to Mrs. Thames, look the door. "What the devil makes you out so late? And what has happened to you, man, eh?—you seem in a queer plight. She put out her hands to avoid his embrace. But he is kind of cute.
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