“Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. ‘You imbecile. Perhaps these few words were the first real conscious words he had uttered in days. Be a sport, and pile it all on me!" He went to bed. The packets were hastily broken open; and, while Wood was absorbed in the perusal of the despatch addressed to him by Sir Rowland, Thames sought out, and found the letter which he had been prevented from finishing on the fatal night at Jonathan Wild's. “She has nothing to be afraid of,” he continued. Here is one verse. ‘They hold their nose up, so. She explained she was expecting an important interview, and asked that her visitor should be duly shown in. .
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