| 1821 - 724 стор.
...poor orphan companion — who had herself met with utile but injuries in this world — stretclied out a saving hand to me. Uttering a cry of terror, but without a moment's delay, sheraH off into Oxford Street, and in less time than could be imagined, returned to me with a glass... | |
| 1822 - 962 стор.
...become hopeless. Then it was, at this crisis of my fate, that iny poor orphan companion— who had herself met with little but injuries in this world—...terror, but without a moment's delay, she ran off into Oxford-street, and in leas time than could be imagined, returned to me with a glass of port wine and... | |
| Thomas De Quincey - 1847 - 270 стор.
...become hopeless. Then it was, at this crisis of my fate, that my poor orphan companion — who had herself met with little but injuries in this world...terror, but without a moment's delay, she ran off into Oxford-street, and in less time than could be 13 imagined, returned to me with a glass of port wine... | |
| Thomas De Quincey - 1853 - 290 стор.
...have become hopeless. Then it was, at this crisis of my fate, that my poor orphan companion, who had herself met "with little but injuries in this world,...terror, but without a moment's delay, she ran off into Oxford-street, and in less time than, could be imagined returned to me with a glass of portwine and... | |
| 1857 - 804 стор.
...have become hopeless. Then it was, at this crisis of my fate, that my poor orphan companion, who had herself met with little but injuries in this world,...could be imagined, returned to me with a glass of port-wine and spices, that acted upon my empty stomach (which at that time would have rejected all... | |
| Thomas De Quincey - 1862 - 454 стор.
...have become hopeless. Then it was, at this crisis of my fate, that my poor orphan companion, who had herself met with little but injuries in this world,...terror, but without a moment's delay, she ran off into Oxfordstreet, and in less time than could be imagined, returned to me with a glass of port wine and... | |
| Thomas De Quincey - 1867 - 140 стор.
...become hopeless. Then it was, at this crisis of my fate, that my poor orphan companion — who had herself met with little but injuries in this world...terror, but without a moment's delay, she ran off into Oxford-street, and in less time than could be imagined, returned to me with a glass of port wine and... | |
| Charles Knight - 1868 - 506 стор.
...head against her bosom, and all at once I sank from her arms, and fell backwards on the steps. . . . Uttering a cry of terror, but without a moment's delay,...could be imagined, returned to me with a glass of port-wine and spices, that acted upon my empty stomach (which at that time would have rejected all... | |
| Casket - 1873 - 882 стор.
...become hopeless. Then it wa», at this crisis of my fate, that my poor orphan companion — who had N fэ D$g :R ֒ N e+p sj g " wܠ 3 , M a7 ҴX ` Ƿ QV 7;a &< ehe ran off into Oxford Street, and in less time than could be imagined, returned to me with a glass... | |
| Thomas De Quincey - 1876 - 654 стор.
...have become hopeless. Then it was, at this crisis of my fate, that my poor orphan companion, who had herself met with little but injuries in this world,...terror, but without a moment's delay she ran off into Oxford-street, and in less time than could be imagined returned to me with a glass of portwine and... | |
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