"Relating to the father of the boy—Thames Darrell," supplied Jonathan. ’ The sharp eyes twinkled. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. She turned and looked at the red LED of the alarm clock that read 3:55. "Take her," cried Jonathan; and, flinging the now inanimate body of the poor widow, who had fainted in the struggle, into the arms of Thames, he leapt through the window, and by the time the latter could consign her to Wood, and dart after him, he had disappeared.
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