Through fire and water, through penury and pestilence, your hand will always be on his shoulder. "He will be murdered!—Help!" "My child!—my love!" cried Wood, dragging her forcibly back. "Constance is yet living. No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. A detective will be here in a few moments to make inquiries into this affair. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. ‘You’re the most troublesome wretch I’ve ever encountered,’ he told her bitterly. The prisoner, however, submitted more quietly than was anticipated. ‘Is she the Frenchie we’ve been watching for then, sir?’ The lady’s furious features turned on this new target.
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