He got out of the car and lifted her from the convertible before she could open the door. As he passed along the main thoroughfare, he heard his own name pronounced, and found that it was a hawker, crying a penny history of his escapes. The violence of the collision nearly threw him backwards, and caused him to swerve as he sprang. As it was feared that some mischief would ensue, Wild volunteered, if he were allowed a small body of men, to ride forward to Tyburn, and keep the ground clear until the arrival of the prisoner. “What else was I to do?” For some seconds she stood watching him and both were thinking very quickly. The red glare fell upon the slimy brick-work, and tinged the inky waters below. He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his eyes.
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