Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. He seemed so clean anyway, his fair 215 skin, his light brown hair, there almost seemed to be no point. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. I’m a soldier, you see. Thankfully only the children were home, so there was no one to take active notice that she had been accompanied on her way home from school. If I'd been in the way, instead of Jonathan Wild, that accident wouldn't have happened.
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