"No, no," rejoined Thames; "fly—or I will not answer for your safety. Stay! I'll go myself. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. "You will before I'm done with you. —Strype's Stow. Your old rooms are there, if you choose. The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done.
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