The atmosphere at dinner was not propitious. She found herself struggling with a storm of tears. " "Perhaps, I wasn't," returned Thames, gloomily, as the remembrance of Jonathan Wild's foul insinuation crossed him. “Oh! please don’t lose yourself in a wilderness of secondary considerations,” she said. ‘But a spy I am not. ’ He shifted unguardedly, and hissed a breath, wincing. I'm not interested in him. Keeping hold of the doorhandle, she turned slowly.
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