"I see nothing surprising in it," rejoined Jonathan. If you love me, do not allude to this subject again. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. For ten years I've been trying to go home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient. 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.
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