‘Do not be foolish. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. E. The idea of anything criminal never entered her thoughts. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. ‘You are extremely empty-headed, Lucy. I’ve a dread of love dropping its petals, becoming mean and ugly.
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