She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. It was in the quiet streets and squares toward Oxford Street that it first came into her head disagreeably that she herself was being followed. Not with the unavoidable explanations, and the need to secrete the sword and hide it before returning the priest’s horse to its stable—which had been her excuse for running from Martha’s protestations. A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent into the water.
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