I must provide for my safety. I don’t have to take this shit. "My mother!—my poor mother!" ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees, and bursting into tears. It fell with a clatter to the floor. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music.
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