If you ride past the church, and mount the hill, you'll come to Neasdon and then you'll not have above half a mile to go. "It was given me by a man who was drinking t'other night with Blueskin at the Lion! and who, though he slouched his hat over his eyes, and muffled his chin in a handkerchief, must have been Jonathan Wild. Her fingers clutched the side of the door as though to steady herself. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense.
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