The turnkey looked round the next moment, but the manoeuvre escaped his observation. She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. 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. Perhaps that sealed letter was a form of confession, and thus relieved him on that score. " "A friend is not so soon gained as lost," replied Wood; "but how has the prediction been fulfilled, Joan, eh?" "I thought you would have guessed, Sir," replied the widow, timidly. I thought Bess would have cried her pretty eyes out when she heard you was nabbed. " "Egad, Jack," said Gay, "you should write your adventures. " "What do you mean, Sir?" asked Trenchard.
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