. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. "I was about to add," continued Gay, "that my opera shall have no music except the good old ballad tunes. "What do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?" whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view. Her tone should have warned him, but he was too much in earnest to regard it.
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