The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust. She had come to the end of her resources. One of the coolies held the paper lantern. Will you tell her that?" "I will," replied Thames, earnestly. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed.
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