"My mother!—my poor mother!" ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees, and bursting into tears. Taking his way along East Smithfield, mounting Little Tower-hill, and threading the Minories and Hounsditch, he arrived without accident or molestation, at Moorfields. He was an imaginative young man. ‘But a spy I am not. ‘Let me see if our minds are attuned.
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