“Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. ” Michelle’s tone changed from miserable to conspiratorial.
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