Good looks, with a melancholy cast, always drew sentimental females. Little things, almost impalpable, had happened to justify that doubt; something in his manner had belied his words. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. " "Perhaps, I wasn't," returned Thames, gloomily, as the remembrance of Jonathan Wild's foul insinuation crossed him.
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