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And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel. It comforts him when he is most forlorn. Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. His hand fell lightly to her chest where her heart was 211 beating, almost tenderly. The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am.

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