She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. The one through which she had come and Gosse had entered behind her. Mercifully, the Peters had moved to Rhode Island about six months after the tragedy. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. He loaded the launch with a thousand pounds—all she could carry—and started home immediately after sundown; but even then he lost from a hundred to a hundred and fifty pounds before he had the stuff cached in McClintock's bamboo-covered sawdust pit. “How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!” she remarked gaily.
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