As for loving you, I do. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. The shouts, yells, and groans which they uttered, and which were echoed by the concourse in the rear, were perfectly frightful. Then she saw him. While this was effected, intelligence was brought that a formidable mob was pouring down Field Lane, the end of which was barricaded. She felt a semi-sharp object being gently impressed into her back.
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