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 was below consciousness, elusive; so he sent out a call to his friend, defensively. He went in and leaned, panting, against one wall. But why did he turn away? "Wait!" Ruth called to her father. Aunt Jane had her quiet moments.
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