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. Jack tried it, and found it locked. The morning of Monday the 16th of November 1724 at length dawned. “Perhaps for myself I do not mind, but this man is sure to find out some day, and he will not like having been deceived. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume. Wrap yourself in my cloak, and keep it. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered.
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