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He was painfully in earnest, too. Coldly she spoke, in a distinctly accented voice. ‘I wish you joy of the wench. On this second excursion, forewarned, she would use no light and keep as quiet as a mouse, she vowed, and thus refrain from attracting the attention of the militia at the gates. ‘Now,’ she said, in an imperious manner that so much reminded him of Melusine that he was obliged to suppress a grin, ‘I can see you properly. We fail altogether to understand your motives in doing what you are doing, or, indeed, how you are managing to do it, or what you are managing on. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. Something in her tone made him look up. How Jonathan Wild's House was burnt down.
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