He returned her to her door at a decent hour, well before 10:00. "You have," rejoined Jonathan, laying a forcible grasp on his shoulder. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. He looked at Annabel, whose face was buried in her hands— he looked back at Anna, who was regarding him with an easy composure which secretly irritated him.
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