So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. ‘I don’t want a hue and cry after me, I thank you. " Roused by this reflection, filled with the deepest anxiety for his mother, and burning to be avenged upon Jonathan Wild, he grasped the iron bar, which, when he sat down, he had laid upon his knees, and stepped quickly across the room.
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