“Um, he took me to the Big Apple. ‘Oh, the Frenchie. It had ceased raining, but the atmosphere was moist and chill, and the ground deluged by the recent showers. 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. But the morning brought courage again, and those first intimations of horror vanished completely from her mind.
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