She was sorry for his liking her too much for his own good, but her need was too desperate to cavil at turning it to useful account. While this was effected, intelligence was brought that a formidable mob was pouring down Field Lane, the end of which was barricaded. “You have put all your life in my hands,” he declared. It was comforting to have her there, snoring gently. For every Eden, there will be a serpent; for every sheepfold, there will be a wolf.
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