A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. ‘What in Hades d’ye mean, thanks to me? Want to blame anyone, blame that rapscallion who calls himself your father. "Who's there?" cried Rachel. Wood!—no," replied the turnkey. Oh, I grew fond of you as the years went by. Take it, I tell you. Gave me a purse, and told me to take both of ’em up to Harwich and put them on a packet for Holland.
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