Roused by Ben's warning, the carpenter looked up and could just perceive the dusky outline of the bridge looming through the darkness, and rendered indistinctly visible by the many lights that twinkled from the windows of the lofty houses. The man, who was just able to move, pointed towards Giltspur-street. “Her husband was a county councillor, and she has a niece who comes to see her in a carriage. From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. He whispered in her ear. ‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment. "This gentleman brings us tidings of an old friend, my dear," said the carpenter. "Yes; but what is good isn't always proper. She evolved a dim image of herself cooped up in a house under the benevolent shadow of Mr. You will go to London?” “It is necessary,” she answered.
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