Wood, I command you not to stir," vociferated the carpenter's better-half; "recollect you'll be answerable to me. She would not forgive me. Even as she watched, the sweat of weakness began to form on his forehead and under the nether lip. ’ Kimble’s widening gaze told its own tale, but still he kept his fingers on the handle of the door. It felt too good. ’ He received a glare from his captive. By various twistings and turnings, during all which time his pursuers, who were greatly increased in numbers, kept him in view, he reached Gray's-Inn-lane.
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