The picture might easily apply to The Tigress: outwardly disreputable, but richly and comfortably appointed below. “You’re a student, perhaps?” said the tall woman. "Where are you going?" cried Thames, who, though wholly disencumbered, was scarcely able to keep up with him. Yet either the rest or the wine seemed already to have done him good. “God in Heaven, Annabel!” he cried. And he departed, just as Wood, who had become alarmed by Thames's long absence, made his appearance with a blunderbuss in his hand.
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