I proceeded to Manchester, to investigate the matter further, and when there ascertained, beyond a doubt, that you were the eldest daughter of Sir Montacute Trenchard. “I’ve plenty of pals,” he said, “who, when they’ve been doing Paris on the Q. However this may be, such was the ill report of the place that few passed along the Old Bailey without bestowing a glance of fearful curiosity at its dingy walls, and wondering what was going on inside them; while fewer still, of those who paused at the door, read, without some internal trepidation, the formidable name—inscribed in large letters on its bright brass-plate—of JONATHAN WILD. What were you doing at Remenham House? I can’t puzzle that bit out. "Thanks to you," said the doctor. The young ladies in the somewhat mixed society amongst which he moved neither satisfied his taste nor appealed in any way to his affections. It was the sing-song girl idea, magnified many diameters. He stopped short with a little exclamation of surprise. I am certainly no ghost. His little doll. A cold shiver came over her.
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