“He must never know,” she would whisper to herself, “he must never know. Having ascertained that Thames was at his heels, he hurried with his ghastly burthen down Seacoal Lane. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. The knight stood upon his defence; but he would unquestionably have been torn in pieces by the savage hounds, if a shower of oaths, seconded by a vigorous application of kicks and blows from their master, had not driven them growling off. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her.
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