Taking his way along East Smithfield, mounting Little Tower-hill, and threading the Minories and Hounsditch, he arrived without accident or molestation, at Moorfields. One of those hanging moments ensued— hypnotic. "Good bye!" cried Mrs. Manning would on no account do, though he was tall and dark and handsome and kind, and thirty-five and adequately prosperous, and all that a husband should be. "You needn't gag me," he added, "I'll not cry out.
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