The man looked closely at Anna as she crossed the footway, and as he held her skirt from the wheel he pressed something into her hand. " As if an order had come to her somewhere out of space, the girl glanced sideways at the other young fool. Taking his way along East Smithfield, mounting Little Tower-hill, and threading the Minories and Hounsditch, he arrived without accident or molestation, at Moorfields. “Come,” she said. She had a vision of policemen, reproving magistrates, a crowded court, public disgrace. Playing with one hand he turned on his stool to glance at her. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. As matters now stand, I'm only a thief, not a blackguard.
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