‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. . "What's that?" "The old human cry of something for nothing; but with you it is in reverse. To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. ‘I wish you joy of the wench. I guess those books are okay because they are fiction. People ran out of their shops to join the pursuit; and, by the time Wild had got into Field-lane, he had a troop of fifty persons at his heels —all eager to assist in the capture.
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