If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which had already taken her half over London, she never admitted it. —Jonathan Wild: August 31st, 1724. “Come, we must go home and have some luncheon. He made it impossible not to respond, his arms tightening deliciously around hers. Lives by his wits and gambling. Always! I don’t believe there is any strong natural affection at all between parents and growing-up children. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper.
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