Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. . "It was given me by a man who was drinking t'other night with Blueskin at the Lion! and who, though he slouched his hat over his eyes, and muffled his chin in a handkerchief, must have been Jonathan Wild. The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. ‘What do you say of these troops?’ ‘You see, we’re militia. Charley Pevenill was our host.
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