“Heavens!” she exclaimed. "You'll not forget the thousand, Sir Rowland—short accounts, you know. Some had the dignity and the aloofness of a rock in the sea; and others were as the polished pebbles on the sands—one saw the difference of pebble from pebble only by close scrutiny. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. In this way, they reached Holborn Bridge.
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