"Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. “Come right in,” he hissed under his breath, with the true conspirator’s note, closed the door very softly and pointed, “Through there!” By the meagre light of a gas lamp she perceived a cobbled yard with four large furniture vans standing with horses and lamps alight. If he had got off, they might have hanged me, and welcome.
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