Dolby smiled. ’ It was the Press who forced the identity upon me. "Two hundred pounds!" exclaimed Ireton, "besides the governor's offer—that's three hundred. "My heart," rejoined Thames, firmly; "which now tells me I am in the presence of his murderer. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. Take that box, and put it into the carriage yourself.
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