It was precisely two o'clock on the morning of Whit-monday, the 25th of May 1724, when the remarkable escape before detailed was completed: and, though it wanted full two hours to daybreak, the glimmer of a waning moon prevented it from being totally dark. Did you break my mother's heart as you tried to break mine? I am no longer accountable to you for anything. On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of good-heartedness and benevolence. ‘That’s why I never told Joan Ibstock that you were still with me when I wrote. "And yet—but it is only part of the chain of ill-luck that seems wound around me. His face was wreathed in smiles, his beringed hand was cordially outstretched. .
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