The tension was palpable. "Where is he?" asked Jonathan. ‘And nor do I. You have never known what it is to want food, raiment, shelter. From your pocket there. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. They were all stout ill-favoured men, attired in the regular jail-livery of scratch wig and snuff-coloured suit; and had all a strong family likeness to each other.
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