In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. “He ran some Austrian fellow off. Funk! I’ll see it out. The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. You’re like some splendid Princess in Exile in these Dreadful Dingy apartments!” “I’m afraid I’m anything but a Princess when it comes to earning a salary,” said Ann Veronica.
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