” She slipped on her cloak and stepped into the hansom with him. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. With Jack so badly injured, how would she get him home? How get herself home, now that Trodger had arrested her. The boy was right. " "I won't reproach you, Jack," said the other, sternly.
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