The thought had not even occurred to him. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. “My dear Anna,” he answered. She backed away from him. Emerging from this aperture, he was about to descend, when he was alarmed by hearing the tramp of horses' feet swiftly approaching, and had only time to hide himself behind one of the largest signboards before alluded to when two horsemen rode up. Nasty, damp passages. His hands reached under her skirt.
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