“Promise me that you’ll never tell another living soul, John. Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands. Wood; "and pray, don't bring anybody with you,—especially Jonathan Wild. ” Her elation teetered in mid-air for a second, then began to flutter down around her like a badly-built house of cards.
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