"I can't help thinking of it, Sir," answered the widow. Grace-church Street was entirely deserted, except by a few stragglers, whose curiosity got the better of their fears; or who, like the carpenter, were compelled to proceed along it. And now, when you come at last, you bring me this grandfather, and you dare to tell me I am like him. I don't believe his name is Taber. "What a very remarkable thing it is," he observed, applying to his snuff-box, "that Thames Darrell, whom we all supposed dead,"—Kneebone in his heart sincerely wished he had been so,—"should turn out to be alive after all. Look somewhere else in life. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head.
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