Think if your own mother was alive!” He paused, deeply moved. “You have even her name. But I shan’t try to stop you. Following his guide, Sir Rowland found himself in a large and lofty apartment, the extent of which he could not entirely discern until lights were set upon the table. 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. You creep around in a nun’s habit, peering into a private ballroom.
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