Diane did not hear the footsteps on her brick patio or the audible click of the back door lock being compromised. Salvation. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. Jonathan smiled contemptuously. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. Her aunt leaped unhappily to the thought of penitence.
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