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Ten thousand islands, and each one good for a night's rest. “I remember,” she said, “that the first night I saw you, you spoke of my sister as your friend. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. What was yet more worthy of note was, that the widow's countenance had an air of refinement about it, of which it was utterly destitute before, and which seemed to intimate that her true position in society was far above that wherein accident had placed her. The boiling under her stern, however, told him nothing. Then she would be dead, and that was no use. In consequence of the encouragement thus offered to dishonesty, and the security afforded to crime, this quarter of the Borough of Southwark was accounted (at the period of our narrative) the grand receptacle of the superfluous villainy of the metropolis. Nothing like the direct approach, she thought. All I had to do was to piece them together.
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