The girl nodded sagely. Peste, she had forgot the sword. The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. “Did she? I’m sorry, Mike. I believe that her ladyship is going to Carey House, and on to the Marquis of Waterford’s ball,” he added, hastily consulting a diary on the hall table. Apparently he did not see his recent companions. Lucy found solace in the lack of sunshine, but the November cold was over the top, even for Illinois. During the foregoing occurrences a dead calm prevailed.
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