" "I'm sorry. She pointed suddenly at the portrait. There is no other way. Louis the Fourteenth yet lived, and expectations were, therefore, indulged of assistance from France. 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. What was she going to do? One main idea possessed her: she must get away from home, she must assert herself at once or perish.
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