‘Whither away, mademoiselle?’ he said grimly, ungently grasping her arm above the elbow. Its cavernous expanses equaled the upstairs of the house. After what seemed like an eternity he turned right onto a dirt road that ended unceremoniously at a copse of leafless trees. But oh, how weary I am! I know. It was a clear, lovely, October morning. That—that isn’t living! You are beside yourself. I saw him last night at Jonathan Wild's, after my escape from the New Prison.
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