"Begone, wretch!" cried the mother, stung beyond endurance by his taunts; "or I will drive you hence with my curses. I’ve to collect my sword and hat, and then we must get back to London. Gold-handled, too. Already she knew that she was overstaying her welcome. "Don't be angry with me, Thames," continued Sheppard, in a tone calculated, as he thought, to appease his companion's indignation. So, instead, they talked of dancing and what it might mean in a human life.
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