She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. " "Be it so," replied Jack, putting up his blade. He rambled in an unfortunate monotone, the result of his innate fear of public speaking. In this room was my ruin begun: in this room it should be ended. Instead, she laughed, laughed with lips and eyes, laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. Jonathan Wild's House in the Old Bailey XVII.
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