She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. "As yet," pursued the stranger, "Sir Montacute had placed no limit to his son's expenditure. My father's chief fear, I must tell you, is from the baneful influence of Jonathan Wild. I'm hungry. If he ran less risk of being blown over, he stood a much greater chance of being washed off, or stifled.
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