ToC After a few minutes' rapid walking, during which neither party uttered a word, Jonathan Wild and his companion had passed Saint Paul's, dived down a thoroughfare on the right, and reached Thames Street. His quiet, kindly smile implied his serene disbelief in any confessible thing. Lucy's grin faded. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard.
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