ToC Monday, the 31st of August 1724,—a day long afterwards remembered by the officers of Newgate,—was distinguished by an unusual influx of visitors to the Lodge. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. She would be in the library, her favorite place, or on the bench by the colored glass window with her embroidery. Once she stopped in front of a mirror and looked at herself thoughtfully. She climbed slowly towards it, keeping close to the hedge side, fragrant with wild roses, and holding her skirts high above the dew-laden grass. She would take this one back with her. She would come and sit cross-legged just beyond the bamboo curtain and silently watch him at work. Hartford had a very respectable sound. No, don’t let me call myself that.
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