He pulled rein at the sight of her, saluted, and regarded her with his rather too protuberant eyes. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. He had shaved his side-whiskers and come over in flannels, but he was still indisputably the same person who had attended Ann Veronica for the measles and when she swallowed the fish-bone. Infested by every description of vagabond and miscreant, it was, perhaps, a few degrees worse than the rookery near Saint Giles's and the desperate neighbourhood of Saffron Hill in our own time. Those who act wickedly bring misery on all connected with them. "He will kill me," cried Thames. There was every indication that she fled the island in company with a dissolute rogue.
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