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" "Perhaps, I wasn't," returned Thames, gloomily, as the remembrance of Jonathan Wild's foul insinuation crossed him. His feet would have the firm texture of his hands. She wondered wildly why she had stood up. " "There's but one way of clearing it, your worship," said the Master, archly. She caught at the idea. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. He is a knight. She did not therefore reveal to him that he had guaged her with accuracy. Man's fate is in his own hands. And, mind! no prevaricating—nothing but the truth will satisfy me.
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