‘I dropped the lantern,’ Jack’s muffled voice told her. All the sombre visions she had been pressing back, fighting out of her thoughts, swarmed over the barrier and crushed her. And yet, on the very site of the sordid tenements and squalid courts we have mentioned, where the felon openly made his dwelling, and the fraudulent debtor laughed the object of his knavery to scorn—on this spot, not two centuries ago, stood the princely residence of Charles Brandon, the chivalrous Duke of Suffolk, whose stout heart was a well of honour, and whose memory breathes of loyalty and valour. "There it is!" cried Sir James, eagerly. I am a little afraid. She's headed for America.
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