But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede. Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough. Were I to let you go, you'd say I feared you. He was placed in a coach, handcuffed, and heavily fettered, and guarded by a vast posse of officers to Temple Bar, where a fresh relay of constables escorted him to Westminster. She would never return to her father; that resolution was final. Fretting and fidgeting, he had, after an hour or so, turned to McClintock.
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