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Now, he must have folks somewhere. “I have had a trying evening and I need rest. He laughed reassuringly. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. How Jonathan Wild's House was burnt down.
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