He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. “It would have been rash and unwise,” she said at the end of a meditation. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. "But if my career were truly exhibited, it must be as one long struggle against destiny in the shape of—" "Jonathan Wild," interposed Gay.
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