" It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. Her likeness to her sister gave him at first almost a shock; a moment afterwards he was conscious of a wonderful sense of relief. ‘You ain’t got nothing on me. I learned the trick of the place from one Paul Groves, who used to live here, and who contrived the machine. ‘Thought you were going to break in here,’ he said, in an impatient whisper. “I didn’t blow up the house. I don't think he'll come to himself too soon. "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. Yes—as he would have liked. "Because I knew what you wanted me for!" answered Thames firmly. The signs of tears had all gone, but some subtle change seemed to have stolen into her face.
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