" "Get hence," continued Mrs. . . . " "It's Jonathan Wild," returned the widow, endeavouring to alarm him. I pray you, Gérard, do not fail me. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. ‘I assure you it was mutual. ‘Comment? What do you wish?’ ‘What the devil do you think you’re up to now, I’d like to know?’ Her eyes flashed. The theme was a masquerade. ’ ‘And if she can’t?’ asked Lucy.
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