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. “Good God!” he exclaimed. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. Many a black veil hid a high-born dame, and the religious habit was no protection. The baby was placed in her 19 lap. She dressed quickly, pulling on white jeans and a red tee shirt. Lose not a moment, Hobson. He stepped quickly towards her.
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