She felt the bedsprings coil as he moved from his seated position, entranced. But Jack was too nimble for him. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. No matter what the fire and force of his passion, it falters eventually, and forever after smoulders or goes out. Traversing Angel Court, and Green Arbour Court,—celebrated as one of Goldsmith's retreats,—he speedily reached Seacoal Lane, and pursuing the same course, which he and Thames had formerly taken, arrived at the yard at the back of Jonathan's habitation. “Ssh!” said her mother, and then added, “A little natural feeling, dear.
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