“You would be wise to loosen your purse-strings, Gianfrancesco. We've made a pretty penny by him—sixty guineas this blessed day. Is all that folly done with—for ever?” Annabel shivered ever so slightly. When she saw however that this man was a stranger, and obviously harmless, her expression changed as though by magic. Figg, the noted prize-fighter, from the New Amphitheatre in Marylebone Fields. Prudence attacked her chicken wing.
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