After a while he spoke again. How Jonathan Wild's House was burnt down 458 XXXI. ‘I have only borrowed it. Breakfast was laid for one, a dish of fruit and a shining coffee equipage. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. “I had a visit from Sir John in my rooms,” she said.
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