"Surely," observed Thames, laughing, "to one who entertains so high an opinion of Jonathan Wild, as Mr. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes.
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