“Vee!” said Miss Stanley, “you hear what your father says!” Miss Stanley struggled with emotion. “I see the pointer,” she said. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. Not a word was uttered by the assemblage; but a hush of expectation reigned throughout. She had been married four times: three of her husbands died of hempen fevers; and the fourth, having been twice condemned, was saved from the noose by Jonathan Wild, who not only managed to bring him off, but to obtain for him the situation of under-turnkey in Newgate.
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