" "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. It has been said, that the pier of each arch, or lock of Old London Bridge, was defended from the force of the tide by a huge projecting spur called a starling. It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag.
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