” His face darkened. " "Poor Jack!" exclaimed Thames. "At a place we call the Dark House at Queenhithe," answered Jonathan, "a sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side, and frequented by the crew of the Dutch skipper, to whose care he's to be committed. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks. Afraid, no doubt, he thought grimly, that her other visitor would leave. She flung aside every plan she had in life, every discretion. It is repulsive.
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