"You've ruined my hopes. The veins in his throat and forehead swelled and blackened; his eyes protruded from their sockets, and stared wildly; a thick damp gathered on his brow: and blood gushed from his mouth, nostrils, and ears. "Have a little patience, Sir," rejoined the jailer. But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage. The very carts and vans and cabs that Wellington Street poured out incessantly upon the bridge seemed ripe and good in her eyes. At the sight of her he became rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink.
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