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’ Chapter Three Captain Hilary Roding listened with only half an ear to the long-winded report being given by Sergeant Trodger, his idle gaze wandering over the congested traffic of Piccadilly and the many pedestrians weaving a hazardous path through it. The ripple of the water against the boat, as its keel cleaves through the stream—the darkling current hurrying by—the indistinctly-seen craft, of all forms and all sizes, hovering around, and making their way in ghostlike silence, or warning each other of their approach by cries, that, heard from afar, have something doleful in their note—the solemn shadows cast by the bridges—the deeper gloom of the echoing arches—the lights glimmering from the banks—the red reflection thrown upon the waves by a fire kindled on some stationary barge—the tall and fantastic shapes of the houses, as discerned through the obscurity;—these, and other sights and sounds of the same character, give a sombre colour to the thoughts of one who may choose to indulge in meditation at such a time and in such a place. Yes, of course. She was the actress his whim had chosen to play a passive part. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. Both advanced towards it, when, by the light of the lantern, Wood beheld, in the countenance of the stranger, the well-remembered and stern features of Rowland. “It is a night of endings,” she murmured to herself. I bound him up good and tight, stuffed his mouth with a length of rope, taped it shut. Given the proper incentive, who could say that he might not likewise go nobly to some fine end? She thrilled. What is it?" "Is there anything I can do?" The idiocy of the question filled him with the craving of laughter. Wood; but they never come now. “You have been very kind to me,” she said. Drummond nodded. We’re hard stuff!” Then she went on: “To think that is my father! Oh, my dear! He stood over me like a cliff; the thought of him nearly turned me aside from everything we have done.
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