"If you two loved each other," went on the doctor, "there would be something to stand on—a reason why for this madness. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean. The packets were hastily broken open; and, while Wood was absorbed in the perusal of the despatch addressed to him by Sir Rowland, Thames sought out, and found the letter which he had been prevented from finishing on the fatal night at Jonathan Wild's. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. He reeled, and crashed to the floor.
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