It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. Maggot, who promptly interposed her cudgel. The theme was a masquerade. " "Perhaps, I wasn't," returned Thames, gloomily, as the remembrance of Jonathan Wild's foul insinuation crossed him. ” For the moment her aunt could not think of any reply to this counterstroke, and Ann Veronica followed up her advantage by a sudden inquiry about her abandoned boots.
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