ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. Don’t be afraid to go on thinking it. But he seized the chance to entrap her fingers, fan and all, and look deeply into her eyes. " "It came from Lady Trafford's jewel-box. She wanted to cry out upon herself for the uttermost fool in existence. It would surely be only common politeness to drop her a hint—a fellow countrywoman too.
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