‘You keep a-hold of him,’ Trodger ordered his men. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. At the gate opening upon the road leading to Dollis Hill were stationed William Morgan and John Dump. Voilà tout. One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. “I want you to kiss me,” she said. Poor soul! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his master; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never afterwards recovered her reason.
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