" "Jonathan Wild was my husband's bitterest enemy," said Mrs. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. ‘Why, you have heard yourself all that is being said. I swear to you, solemnly swear to you, I will save your son's life, nay more, will befriend him, will place him out of the reach of his enemies, if you consent to become my wife. ‘Assuredly it is locked up. At times he seemed to be claiming pity from her; at times he was threatening her with her check and exposure; at times he was boasting of his inflexible will, and how, in the end, he always got what he wanted. Well, I'd no idea," she continued, pursuing her ruminations as she left the room, "that people of quality laughed so. I’m not a bit afraid of anything—scandal, difficulty, struggle.
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