” She laid her fingers for a moment upon his arm. 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. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. If Winifred remained silent, her looks would have disarmed a person of less assurance than the woollen-draper. “And you must please not look at me as though I were an executioner,” she declared lightly. I am not a madman, or a pauper, or even an unreasonable person. \"Awww, sounds like puppy love to me. " "At least, I will hope so," returned Winifred.
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