"You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. Of course she had often heard sailors hammering out their ditties. The advanced guard rode on to drive away any opposition, while the main body of the procession crossed the bridge, and slowly toiled up Holborn Hill. Would she ever find it? Sighing, she opened the door to the next room, and drew back the drapes. Hang the wench! Roding was right.
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