This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. He learnt that his sister was privately married—the name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained—and living in retirement in an obscure dwelling in the Borough, where she had given birth to a son. ‘You have said you do not wish to marry me,’ she accused. Taking his way along East Smithfield, mounting Little Tower-hill, and threading the Minories and Hounsditch, he arrived without accident or molestation, at Moorfields.
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