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. She looked round wildly, as if seeking some source of help, as the boots halted at the front door and the shouting intensified. “Hello? She’s like, your girlfriend, not mine. To recreate the era, I deliberately tried to avoid creating a thinly disguised bodice ripper where an “empowered” woman mouthed off to prospective suitors in jerkins and tights, in other words, a typical romance novel. His shouts for help were answered by roars of mockery and laughter.
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