By the light of a torch borne at the stern of the hostile wherry, he saw that the pursuers had approached within a short distance of the object of their quest. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. He laughed once or twice at himself as he paced backwards and forwards. ‘Leave it, imbecile. I will return to Manchester at once. "Was that thunder?" he faltered, as a terrible clap was heard overhead. But, egad! I believe he will. Marry, come up! I'll show him what an injured wife can do.
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