" "Do you call ten guineas easy terms?" cried Wood, with a look of dismay. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. He laughed lightly. Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. “You’re getting too old to put things off, John. E below.
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