The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. "Yes, now," rejoined the infuriated dame; "perhaps, I may never have another opportunity. “You love some one else?” he repeated. She may be an infuriating little devil, but she is far from stupid. If he did resemble me, I shouldn't care about him.
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