256 Lucy chose her words carefully. And now you know. She came back with two women, one in each arm, which she threw down like sticks as she alit onto the stone causeway. You shall swing for this after next sessions, or my name's not Jonathan Wild. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance.
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