"Don't weep, my love," replied the lady, straining him still more closely to her. She withdrew her mouth and patted his penis dry with the bottom of his shirttails. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. He had the appearance of a man who has known no rest for many nights.
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