He was conscious of a quickening of his heartbeat and the familiar rise of adrenalin that sent his senses soaring in anticipation. Mother—dear mother!" he added, clasping her in his arms, "Look at me again. The houses on Snow Hill were thronged, like those in Old Bailey. "I hope not. I'm an old hand at such things. ’ ‘It’s immaterial, in any event,’ Roding put in. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites.
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