He was alarmed when she returned to the stage and her eyes passed over him in the audience. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. Wood fancied he heard the exulting laugh of Jonathan Wild. A moment before, the surface of the stream was black as ink. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid.
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