“Let’s go. "Is it gold?" "Pure gold," replied Kneebone. "What do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?" whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view. "Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. But that was soon put right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release.
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