This was occasioned by Jonathan Wild, who was seen to mount his horse and join the train. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. But come in, dear. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. When the prisoner was removed from the dock, we met Jonathan as we passed through the yard. To compare me to a starving pig. There was, in fact, only one clear thought in his fevered brain: he had reached the hotel without falling down.
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