And it’s like the petals falling from a flower. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. ToC Monday, the 31st of August 1724,—a day long afterwards remembered by the officers of Newgate,—was distinguished by an unusual influx of visitors to the Lodge. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise.
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