Annabel thought, and thought again. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. Martin managed to catch her after class the next day. Traversing Angel Court, and Green Arbour Court,—celebrated as one of Goldsmith's retreats,—he speedily reached Seacoal Lane, and pursuing the same course, which he and Thames had formerly taken, arrived at the yard at the back of Jonathan's habitation. Ann Veronica said nothing.
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