The sun was setting, casting long dreary shadows across deformed apple trees. "Curse me, if I don't think all the world means to cross the Thames this fine night," observed Ben. " "What faith is to be kept with a felon?" replied the woollen-draper, disdainfully. There was none. As a matter of fact I have been waiting for you. He looked eager and flushed and troubled. “Now you must go,” she said firmly.
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