One hour later she had gone back to the mission—without the salt. "I can't tell you!" she replied, blushing deeply, and clinching her little hand as tightly as possible; "it's a secret!" "I'll soon find it out, then," he returned, playfully forcing the paper from her grasp. "I knew how it would be," she cried, in the shrill voice peculiar to a shrew, "when you brought that worthless hussy's worthless brat into the house. There was no way to warn her of his presence without startling her. As they careened into a parking space, Lucy clung to the upholstery so as not to be thrown against the front seats. Jonathan Wild's House in the Old Bailey XVII.
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