” “You’re lucky to live in an age when you can do so. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. Wood, softening her asperity. I’ll feel fine as soon as I get out of my wet clothes. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. It isn’t as though I haven’t done well. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. It’s these damned novels. Sated, he rolled off her body and retired to his quarters.
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