THAMES DARRELL. ToC About an hour after the occurrences at Newgate, the door of the small backparlour already described at Dollis Hill was opened by Winifred, who, gliding noiselessly across the room, approached a couch, on which was extended a sleeping female, and, gazing anxiously at her pale careworn countenance, murmured,—"Heaven be praised! she still slumbers—slumbers peacefully. No doubt they've all been rejected; but he couldn't throw them overboard. Always! I don’t believe there is any strong natural affection at all between parents and growing-up children. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. I do not think that I have the Bohemian spirit at all.
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