” The housemaid’s presence acted as a useful restraint. “I am exceedingly sorry,” he said. " "What am I to do to earn it?" asked Blueskin, with a disgusting leer,—"cut a throat—or throw myself at your feet—eh, my dear?" "Give me that child," returned the lady, with difficulty overcoming the loathing inspired by the ruffian's familiarity. The sidewalk resonated with the pounding of cold rain by the time she left the building. A feeling of inexplicable awe crept over the carpenter as the sounds died away. The man pulled up. Wood, with a message for Lady Trafford. "A man!" "At your service, my dear," replied the jailer.
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