She chose to hold her nose. Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. I knew it was in vain to cry 'murder!' in the Mint, so I had recourse to stratagem.
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