He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. “I first saw you crossing the river Arno, after a spring rain had spoiled the day for everyone except the ducks. These festivities, however, were not witnessed by the newly-married pair, who had departed immediately after the ceremony for Manchester. It was not for a week or a month. She was a lovely girl, attired in deep mourning, and having an expression of profound sorrow on her charming features. "Shoot him! shoot him! Put him out of hish mishery," cried the Jew.
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