" CHAPTER IX. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. His face fell. ‘Very inventive. ‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully. "Do you take me for a thiefcatcher, like Jonathan Wild, that you dare to affront me by such a proposal?" "No offence, Sir," rejoined the jailer, humbly. She deserves what has befallen her.
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