Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me. He pulled rein at the sight of her, saluted, and regarded her with his rather too protuberant eyes. ‘You wound me to the heart, Melusine. Jonathan threw open the street-door.
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