She had hardly noticed the loss of her dagger, so strong had been the waves of relief that attacked her on hearing that Jack had returned from death’s door. While involved in this crowd, near Temple Bar, —where the thoroughfare was most dangerous from the masses of ruin that impeded it,—an individual, whose swarthy features recalled to the carpenter one of his tormentors of the previous night, collared him, and, with bitter imprecations accused him of stealing his child. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. Some part of the stiff vigour of the man seemed to have subsided. “I hope,” Annabel answered lazily, “that you have succeeded. Warm reality was now so near her she could hear it beating in her ears. A disconcerting gray eye that had a mystifying depth.
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