Many a black veil hid a high-born dame, and the religious habit was no protection. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. Sheppard, which she gratefully declined. "What do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?" whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view. She clasped her hands over her mouth in a silent scream. A crowd was collected round the fellow, who was rapidly disposing of his stock.
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