The Scot understood that, gently and indirectly, Ruth was asking her husband a question, opening a door if he cared to enter. The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. "Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup. Diane did not hear the footsteps on her brick patio or the audible click of the back door lock being compromised. “I brought a man with me who is posted outside,” he remarked. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it. It might be three yards in width, and a few more in length; but it was covered with ooze and slime, and the waves continually broke over it. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out.
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