"At a place we call the Dark House at Queenhithe," answered Jonathan, "a sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side, and frequented by the crew of the Dutch skipper, to whose care he's to be committed. That’s one thing clear. Hartford had a very respectable sound. In the present case it did not matter, as there was no one else within earshot. A familiar figure was making his way towards them. She knew it. The lad hesitated. What a heat that news had wrought. “Your father, of course,” he said, “must come to realize just how Splendid you are! He doesn’t understand.
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