Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. She could accord her father with one grace: he was not in any manner a hypocrite. Having now fairly got out of Newgate for the second time, with a heart throbbing with exultation, he hastened to make good his escape. . ‘But do you think I can blame you for this, Marthe?’ ‘I blame myself. “Girls of sixteen do not need their own laundry hampers. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. She was shocked. An astonished Jack Kimble was revealed in the aperture.
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