Starting off at a rapid pace, Jack dashed down Turnagain-lane, skirted the eastern bank of Fleet-ditch, crossed Holborn Bridge, and began to ascend the neighbouring hill. An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical. Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. You’re a lady.
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