“You met no one upon the stairs, or saw no one leave the flats?” “No one,” Anna answered firmly. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. " "It is folded under your pillow. " "Not before I have conducted your child thither," retorted Jonathan, with a withering look. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy.
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