And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. 1. “I wonder how it is,” she exclaimed, “that my friends have so much more confidence in me than I have in myself. “Time for my Patience,” she said. His foot tapped impatiently, and he took up the papers. Boys, at the time of which we write, were attired like men of their own day, or certain charity-children of ours; and the stripling in question was dressed in black plush breeches, and a gray drugget waistcoat, with immoderately long pockets, both of which were evidently the cast-off clothes of some one considerably his senior. It is your own choice, isn’t it?” She nodded. Mama will be expecting me.
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