Elegant, a little scornful, she leaned slightly against the back of a chair and looked him steadily in the eyes. Won’t you come and have some tea with me? There is a new place in Bond Street,” he hastened to say, “where everything is very well done, and they give us music, if that is any attraction to you. I won’t even ask. Wood, at the top of her voice. Does that boy live in some sort of personal cave? Like, I think he might even be thinking about asking you out again! That is what I think. Mrs. Impressed with this idea, he paused for a moment to listen. The boiling under her stern, however, told him nothing. 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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