She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment—a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. She dare not risk it. By this time, the procession had reached the west end of the wall of St.
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