" "Ah!" exclaimed Sir Rowland, glancing significantly at Charcam, who was a confidant in his Jacobite schemes; "is it the messenger from Orchard-Windham, from Sir William?" "No, Sir Rowland. Sheppard, paralysed by the threat. ” Her elation teetered in mid-air for a second, then began to flutter down around her like a badly-built house of cards. "You depart for Lancashire to-morrow. We do not remember to have met with a single individual, reported to be under petticoat government, who was not content with his lot,—nay, who so far from repining, did not exult in his servitude; and we see no way of accounting for this apparently inexplicable conduct—for which, among other phenomena of married life, various reasons have been assigned, though none entirely satisfactory to us—except upon the ground that these domineering dames possess some charm sufficiently strong to counteract the irritating effect of their tempers; some secret and attractive quality of which the world at large is in ignorance, and with which their husbands alone can be supposed to be acquainted. But when it came to broaching them, it proved to be much more difficult than she had supposed. " "This I do know," continued Jack,—"Jonathan Wild superintends the attack. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. “How has the world taken it?” he asked. "My name is Kneebone," added the portly personage, stepping forward.
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