If Jack Sheppard or his mother ever enter this house again, I leave it—that's all. “It really seems as if we shall have to put down marigolds altogether next year,” Aunt Molly repeated three times, “and do away with marguerites. You shall swing for this after next sessions, or my name's not Jonathan Wild. As Leonardo had himself pronounced, who better than a mountebank to teach of the perils awaiting the unwary? Who better than a wastrel to demonstrate the worth of thrift? And who could instruct better in the matter of affections than one who had thrown them away? ‘If he had loved me,’ she said, in the flat tone she had learned to use to conceal her vulnerable heart, ‘he would have left me at Remenham House to live a life of an English lady. Sir John gave his order, deliberately stumbling now and then over a word, and anglicizing others.
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