“You love some one else?” he repeated. “I thank you for your advice,” she said. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. No, don’t let me call myself that. When Jack came to speak of Jonathan Wild, his countenance fell. She wondered even at this late day how she had been able to hold her maddening curiosity in check. She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone—the bones of all women.
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