” For a time she sat on a rail before leaving the road for the downland turf. "Ay, ay, I'll go, fast enough!" returned Jonathan, putting his hands into his pockets, "but not alone, Sir Rowland. The temperature soared to one hundred degrees, sickeningly hot. He felt her relaxation and let go of her wrists. 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.
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