It made me wake up, and there I lay thinking of you, spending your nights up here all alone, and no one to look after you. I suppose I believe in God. In olden days it boasted a chapel, dedicated to Saint Thomas; beneath which there was a crypt curiously constructed amid the arches, where "was sepultured Peter the Chaplain of Colechurch, who began the Stone Bridge at London:" and it still boasted an edifice (though now in rather a tumbledown condition) which had once vied with a palace,—we mean Nonesuch House. The young lady I was with is not married at all. “Just like old times,” she thought sardonically.
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