But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded. 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. Spurlock remained where he was until the sail became an infinitesimal speck in the distance. And mind he doesn't stir out of your sight, on any pretence whatever, till I call.
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