\"I'll have to ask Cathy, you know my foster mother? I have not been asked on a date before. The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. Her life hangs upon a thread, and this may snap it. Gerald stood quite still for a moment or two, listening intently.
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