She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. She could not speak. "Two hundred pounds, if he's lodged in Newgate before to-morrow morning," continued Wild. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself.
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