She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. Excuse me an instant while I dismiss this person. ‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment. Get it off your soul. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. He talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time. “My cab with all that luggage would give the whole show away. By the thief-taker's command, the boat was then rowed toward a muddy inlet, which has received in more recent times the name of Execution Dock. Montague Hill do not interest me in the least. Everything was blurred. You shall swing for this after next sessions, or my name's not Jonathan Wild.
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