Taking his way along East Smithfield, mounting Little Tower-hill, and threading the Minories and Hounsditch, he arrived without accident or molestation, at Moorfields. "My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared. "Poor thing!" muttered he, as the widow departed on her errand, "she's seen better days and better circumstances than she'll ever see again, I'm sure. He pointed to where the lights still burned in Anna’s windows. “I wonder why people in love are so defiant, so careless of other considerations?” “The very hares grow brave. At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose.
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