"You don't recollect me, I presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat. Ann Veronica was carried off her intellectual and critical feet by it altogether, and applauded and uttered cries that subsequent reflection failed to endorse. “No. \" He commented heartily, wiping the sweat from his brow with his hand. "From Jonathan Wild's confidential servant what could be expected but treachery?" With this, he proceeded to dress himself in Quilt Arnold's clothes, pulled the wig over his face and eyes so as completely to conceal his features, slouched the hat over his brows, drew the huge boots above his knees, and muffled himself up in the best way he could. Men had tried that before, but never until now had they been quick enough.
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