I saw him last night at Jonathan Wild's, after my escape from the New Prison. She liked his face; it had on it the suggestion of gentleness, of fineness. Drenched to the skin,—in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy water,—and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff, that he could scarcely move. He wore a French military undress of the period, with high jack-boots, and a laced hat; and, though his attire indicated no particular rank, he had completely the air of a person of distinction.
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