“Of course,” she said diffidently, “this is a boarding-house, although we never take in promiscuous travellers. He had made himself master of the layout of the house, that was plain. Once a thriving town before the Pestilence, most of the buildings and the piers had been destroyed or burned. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. He died in the war. If I surprised her, if I saw her alone, I might make her understand.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 26-09-2024 22:27:27