“You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. ‘That is why I have come to England, you understand. No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. 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. Gosse would have killed me, and perhaps in the fight I might kill him. For fully five minutes he lay quite motionless.
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