I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. Your mind is still subtly sick. ‘Moreover, no one will believe any more that Yolande is me when they see this. “In any case, there is probably some mistake. She turned back into the hall. The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door.
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