Gerald sympathised with his friend’s irritation. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. "Thames would let himself in; and Jack generally finds an entrance through the backdoor or the shop-window, when he has been out at untimely hours. Just as he was about to drain it, he encountered the basilisk glance of Jonathan Wild, and paused. Because she states her case in a tangle, drags it through swamps of nonsense, it doesn’t alter the fact that she is right. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. "I knew his poor mother, and for her sake I'll not see this done," cried John Dump.
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