"What's that?—Jack's voice!" "It is," replied her son. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. Women, she had been taught, who exposed the flesh of their bodies under the eyes of man were in a special catagory of the damned. I am Jonathan Wild.
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