"He's not my son," rejoined the carpenter. A glance satisfied Jonathan that the turnkey was not aware of the prisoner's escape; and he resolved not to destroy what he considered a good jest, by a premature disclosure of it. ‘Is he meeting you here then, my dear?’ ‘He had better,’ said Lucilla. Certain phases of irony always caused him to chuckle audibly. But it was of no avail. It would be useless to tell her to go back, even heartless; and yet he could not advise her to go on, blindly, not knowing whether her aunt was dead or alive. He stuck to the shop as long as it was necessary, and longer, in my opinion. That for you!" And she snapped her fingers in his face. "There's Sharples," cried Quilt. She was always the last person to exit after the crowds had stampeded, trailing slowly behind them like dust.
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