At this juncture, a cry was raised by a servant from below, that the robbers were flying through the garden. . By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly. Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging. "I have hurt you because I would not trust you. Now the pig knew where to find her—for it would not take long for a Catholic to locate the convent in Golden Square—even if she escaped him here. He hadn't followed this angle of thought in ten years: what he might have been, with a little shrewd selfishness. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. Some man! And to conclude it all was the figure of her father in the doorway, giving her a last chance, his hat in one hand, his umbrella in the other, shaken at her to emphasize his point.
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