There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. Yet, stay! There is one thing I wish you to do. I saw him yesterday, and he told me he shouldn't stir from home for a week to come. “So she must have had you fairly young, right?” Lucy nodded again. Sometimes I take innocent lives. Why ain’t you gorn? Seems to me I had ought to arrest you. S.
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