‘I thought, you see, that we might as well enter by the same way our intruder had done. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. There all the loose characters thronged, assignations were openly made, and the spectators diverted themselves with the vagaries of its miserable inhabitants. Austin, may repeat it if he pleases to his master, Jonathan Wild,—I have not.
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