Pottiswick had mentioned muttering. 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. Presently he began to weave a tale, sorry enough, with all the ancient claptraps and rusted platitudes. Gin Lane's the nearest road to the churchyard. But whenever the storm grew dangerous, either McClintock or Spurlock broke into saving laughter.
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