"My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. Dim possibilities that she would not seem to look at even to herself gesticulated in the twilight background of her mind. She wondered what the problem was, why the buildup? She wanted to go to his apartment that evening but stayed herself. 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. What! mum still. She could hardly speak to me; she insisted relentlessly upon a separation. And he departed, just as Wood, who had become alarmed by Thames's long absence, made his appearance with a blunderbuss in his hand. His glance came up again and met hers.
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