It would be a great matter, I must own, to bring Jonathan Wild to justice. Seemed like he knew so much—more than me, miss. "Arrest!" vociferated Wood. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. I'll eat them when we start.
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