"I don't know his name. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. She drifted back into the welcoming arms of sleep, feeling herself surrounded in silk. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. At last he could bear it no longer. We can’t even protect them from themselves. There were two of them. On this I am resolved.
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