Jonathan Wild's House in the Old Bailey XVII. Rows of roasted duck, brilliantly varnished; luscious vegetables, which she had been warned against; baskets of melon seed and water-chestnuts; men working in teak and blackwood; fan makers and jade cutters; eggs preserved in what appeared to her as petrified muck; bird's nests and shark fins. An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. And yet, she would be easy prey in her present state of mind to any plausible, attractive scoundrel. She leaned a little towards him. “What a hypocrite you are. I have counted you, and always hoped to count you, the best of my friends. I'd have got something nice.
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