There was a stain of wine upon her dress. "Off with him to Newgate!" cried Jonathan. "I suppose it didn't drop through the ceiling, did it? Are you quite sure it's flesh and blood?" asked he, playfully pinching its arm till it cried out with pain. She was strong, not unlike a pack mule or a camel; she thought to herself and smirked. But all this business has driven it clean out of my head. He reeled, and crashed to the floor. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it.
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