It isn’t illusions—for us. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. She would compose extremely lucid and honorable explanations. That night she found a ship bound to sail for the heathen nation called America. That dress is thirty years old, if a day.
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