G. Prom a knot of idlers at a public-house, he learnt that Jonathan Wild had just ridden past, and that his setters were scouring the country in every direction. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. Forgetting the dark thoughts of his last brush with the girl, he dropped the dagger back in his pocket, quickened his pace, and went back into the house to look for his hostess. We have both tried hard to develop it—you and I —and we have failed. My feelings overpower me. Outside the door stood one of the soldiers.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQzLjcuMTY5IC0gMTYtMDctMjAyNCAxMjoxNTozNyAtIDIxNjM3MzY0
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