All at once she realised that Kimble had halted, leaning heavily against the wall. (“No, no. It was the crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white. ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. She had no inkling of that insupportable wrong. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. Once more breaking through the hedge he took to the fields. "Do you take me for a thiefcatcher, like Jonathan Wild, that you dare to affront me by such a proposal?" "No offence, Sir," rejoined the jailer, humbly.
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