One night, about this time, just as Austin was about to lock the great gate, Jonathan Wild and his two janizaries entered the Lodge with a prisoner bound hand and foot. Opposite, his pupil stood with bowed head and clasped hands. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. Why don’t you go in? Charvill is there. ’ Then she came closer and put her hand on his chest so that it rested on the braid that decorated his scarlet coat. I owed his father a grudge: that I settled long ago.
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