She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. She stared at him and thought the words, “My husband, my husband. ” “That’s rather a pity,” Annabel said. ‘In fact you admitted only that you had no more weapons. The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. ’ ‘Indeed?’ said Gerald, surprised. Gentlemen! a glass of brandy will be no bad finish to our meal.
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