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F. In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. When Jack came to speak of Jonathan Wild, his countenance fell. "I cannot sign it," returned Trenchard. She leaned forward in her chair, as if petrified in fear by the scary story. The scanty furniture of the rooms corresponded with their dungeon-like aspect. With his arms bare, the neckband of his shirt tucked in, he laboured. From where had he come, and why? An author! To her he would be no less interesting because he was unsuccessful.
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