Jack looked towards the door. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. The Jew, who was paralysed by his companion's fate, offered no resistance, and was instantly seized. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. “Molly and you settled about the rooms. And, whatever you may think, I assure you, Jack's a downright goodnatured fellow. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. “No! I want to do without that.
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