A cold shiver ran through her frame, and her gentle spirit passed away for ever. Too easily roused emotions and too little passion. "We must keep still. While the cloth was laid, the host and Thames descended to the cellar, whence they returned, laden with a number of flasks of the same form, and apparently destined to the same use as those depicted in Hogarth's delectable print—the Modern Midnight Conversation. He’s been near it once or twice already. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. Wasting no time, he crossed straight to the shutters and opened them. If you had lived twenty years ago you would have been called a Young Person, and it would have been your chief duty in life not to know, never to have heard of, and never to understand. "Enough!" rejoined Wild; "he shall not return. I hope she falls off the face of the planet.
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