At length, she suddenly started to her feet; and before Winifred could prevent her, staggered up to Thames. Austin, or any man of similar dimensions, would have found wholly impossible. She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand. Spurling, drily. Fatigued by his previous exertions, and incumbered by his fetters, he was by no means—though ordinarily remarkably swift of foot—a match for his foes, who were fast gaining upon him. It was not the type of household where one could come and go at all hours, for this she was glad.
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