"To Newgate," cried Jonathan, putting his head out of the window. All that he had sown that afternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to this seed, cast without forethought. "The end is the most beautiful in English literature. It felt too good. Here was the place behind the shed where she had used to hide from Roddy’s persecutions, and here the border of herbaceous perennials under whose stems was fairyland.
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