Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet.
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