Sheila grabbed the gun and laughed hysterically, brandishing the weapon and baying like a bear. "Before to-morrow morning I will ascertain what has become of Thames, or perish in the attempt. I'm no mollycoddle. "Did you write it?" "No. I am not sure, but I believe that he has just thought of something. "It's too late to carry 'em before a magistrate now, Sir Rowland; so, with your permission, I'll give 'em a night's lodging in Saint Giles's round-house. “Please stop fighting me.
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