‘It had better not be, by God,’ had barked Captain Hilary Roding. No, don’t let me call myself that. ‘Certainly I am not a nun. "Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. " Roused by this reflection, filled with the deepest anxiety for his mother, and burning to be avenged upon Jonathan Wild, he grasped the iron bar, which, when he sat down, he had laid upon his knees, and stepped quickly across the room.
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