The one I have is a duplicate. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. "My child! my child!" exclaimed Mrs. Jonathan gave utterance to a low whistle. After dinner Ann Veronica went into the drawing-room with Miss Stanley, and her father went up to his den for his pipe and pensive petrography. But she felt his lax figure become rigid. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards.
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