There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. 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. "That's well," replied Wild, entering the house, and fastening the door. " "We shall see," rejoined Jonathan, turning carelessly upon his heel. And, while the turnkey was busy with the keys, she whispered to the black, "Follow him, Caliban.
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