“You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. He had shaved his side-whiskers and come over in flannels, but he was still indisputably the same person who had attended Ann Veronica for the measles and when she swallowed the fish-bone. If I'd been in the way, instead of Jonathan Wild, that accident wouldn't have happened.
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