” She drove off in a little fiacre, nodding and smiling at Sir John, who remained upon the Avenue. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. Have the goodness to affix your name to that memorandum, Sir Rowland. “He dissembles,” he said.
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