“I have a letter for you, and no end of messages. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. Now, come along, gem'men, and I'll show you some precious sport. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh. Dashing through the open door, he crossed the Old Bailey, plunged into a narrow court on the opposite side of the way, and was out of sight in a minute, baffling all pursuit. "I'm prudence personified.
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