’ Lady Bicknacre, resplendent in purple satin, and basking in her triumphantly full rooms—for it was obvious that her patronage of the refugees had set a quickly to be followed fashion—was all sorrow and sympathy when Gerald spoke of them. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. Jonathan Wild and his bloodhounds, with a hundred others, incited by the reward, will be upon my track. Oaths exploded like shells from a battery in full fire, accompanied by threats of direst vengeance against the individuals who had maltreated them. I’d only have to do something about it, and that I can’t. If he keeps his word, I'll keep mine. To the practised eye of the waterman matters wore a very different air.
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