He tugged at the overly large hooded sweatshirt, which she unzipped and let fall to the ground. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings. 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. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern what you can do with this work. "The devil!" ejaculated Jonathan. ‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully.
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