“Come on in, Michelle. "No, no," rejoined Thames; "fly—or I will not answer for your safety. But shortly this movement ceased. I must!” She threw open the door and pointed to it. While he was thus occupied, Thames, prompted by an unaccountable feeling of curiosity, took up the penknife which the other had just used, and examined the haft. He had said so. It was not due to shyness: it was the inherent instinct of the Woman, a protective fear that she must retain some elements of mystery in order to hold the interest of the male. The windows were small, and strongly grated, looking, in front, on Kendrick Yard, and, at the back, upon the spacious burial-ground of Saint Giles's Church.
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