Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. “I have the right to be here. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. But in the appendix of the dictionary she had discovered magic names—Hugo, Dumas, Thackeray, Hawthorne, Lytton. “You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. I can pull the strings of this stiff-necked puppet as I please. This was just what he needed. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. He listened. "Is your person in danger?" "Not from my creditors," replied Wood, significantly.
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