"Tell him that I—his adopted son, Thames Darrell— am detained here by Jonathan Wild. He hated horizons. Battle, murder, and sudden death—and an old chap like McClintock tuning his piano in the midst of it. There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. I can. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off.
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