"A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. “Now, there, there. Shotbolt," cried the turnkey, "I've good news for you. " "As you will," said Jonathan, seating himself. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. It’s these damned novels. "Take her," cried Jonathan; and, flinging the now inanimate body of the poor widow, who had fainted in the struggle, into the arms of Thames, he leapt through the window, and by the time the latter could consign her to Wood, and dart after him, he had disappeared.
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