” That phrase about dragging the truth through swamps of nonsense she remembered from Capes. Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. Then she went below. ’ ‘Very true. The morning of Monday the 16th of November 1724 at length dawned. She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets. “But I wish,” she said, “I had some idea what I was really up to. Spurling, (for she it was,) either by her attractions of purse or person, had succeeded in moving the stony heart of Mr. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward.
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