Taking his way along East Smithfield, mounting Little Tower-hill, and threading the Minories and Hounsditch, he arrived without accident or molestation, at Moorfields. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. The Jacobite IV. But, though I cannot reward you, Heaven will.
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