She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting
under the dim lights. “But I am your husband,” he said. Here, put it on your finger. "Halloa, widow!" shouted a rough voice from below, "where the devil are you?"
Mrs. Kneebone, having been alarmed by something in the widow's
look before her feelings found vent in the manner above described, thrust his
hand instinctively into his coat in search of his pocket-book,—about the security
of which, as it contained several letters and documents implicating himself and
others in the Jacobite plot, he was, not unnaturally, solicitous,—and finding it
gone, he felt certain he had been robbed. A
sinister thought edged in. "Is your person in danger?"
"Not from my creditors," replied Wood, significantly. Meanwhile, the object of all this fearful disturbance had made his escape to
Newgate, from the roof of which he witnessed the destruction of his premises. ”
He too rose. But he reckoned without his host.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMjIuNTEuMjQxIC0gMDEtMDctMjAyNCAxODoxMjo1MiAtIDExMDk3MDI3OTc=
This video was uploaded to golfrealestateonline.com on 01-07-2024 13:38:00