She pulled the door so that it was not quite to, and held out her hand, palm up. My father's chief fear, I must tell you, is from the baneful influence of Jonathan Wild. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. Voices floated down, but there was no sound of pursuit. They talked lightly but confidentially until Sir John approached them with a slight frown upon his face.
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