\" He said to her after he bought his own ticket. Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll. I saw him last night at Jonathan Wild's, after my escape from the New Prison. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. “By Jove!” he exclaimed.
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