The strong tide filled his throat, and bore him on its rapid current—Chap. lxvii.
"Master!" he cried, stooping on one knee and catching at his hand. "Dear Master! speak to me!"—Chap. lxxi.
Two wretched people were more than once observed to crawl at dusk from the inmost recesses of St. Giles's—Chap. lxxiii.