“I MUST speak to you,” he said. Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. Only a few, but enough for me to understand that some act had driven you to this part of the world, where the hunted hide. My father's chief fear, I must tell you, is from the baneful influence of Jonathan Wild. “You’ll get me to allude to it, but you’d have to torture me to admit it. Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain.
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