Wild will hang me. She glanced at him. "Sir Rowland is your uncle—he will be your guardian—he will protect you. ’ ‘Charvill, then,’ Gerald concluded, unperturbed. She wouldn't be able to pass by anywhere without folks turning their heads. This time she tried to kill me with a dagger. ‘I’ll make it, miss. She liked the animated eagerness of his manner. “Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. At the period of this history, the main streets of the metropolis were but imperfectly lighted, while the less-frequented avenues were left in total obscurity; but, even at the present time, the maze of courts and alleys into which Wild now plunged, would have perplexed any one, not familiar with their intricacies, to thread them on a dark night. The Procession to Tyburn 462 XXXII.
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