” “A little pit!” said Ann Veronica; “a little prison!” “It’s just as often a little refuge. " So saying, he slung it upon his wrist. Raven locks fell to her shoulders from under the feathered beaver hat, and curled away down her back. I'd like to shake you until your bones rattled; but the bones of a Roundhead wouldn't rattle to any purpose. ToC Nearly nine years after the events last recorded, and about the middle of May, 1724, a young man of remarkably prepossessing appearance took his way, one afternoon, along Wych Street; and, from the curiosity with which he regarded the houses on the left of the road, seemed to be in search of some particular habitation. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white.
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