The Procession to Tyburn. It was high afternoon, there was no great throng of footpassengers, and many an eye from omnibus and pavement rested gratefully on her fresh, trim presence as she passed young and erect, with the light of determination shining through the quiet self-possession of her face. Jonathan had not deceived him. “Think of the mockery!” she said. He is extremely old—forty at least—and he has a belly excessively fat.
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