The thought did not occur to her, for all thought had flown out of her head. "Coming!—so is midnight—so is Jonathan Wild," retorted Jack, with a significant look at Thames. There it is. By a sort of instinct. ‘Where the devil have you been?’ ‘Consorting with a nun in the gardens. He knocked at the door. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill.
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