She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. Then there came briskly along the path towards her, an Englishman. " "I hope you never may, my love," humbly acquiesced the carpenter. Except he was the only idiot who would stay. He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom. She was taken dreadfully ill on the road, with spasms and short breath, and swoonings,—worse than ever she was before.
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