Having watched the funeral at some distance, Jonathan fancied he could discern the figure of Jack; but not being quite sure, he entered the church. It is at the lodge that we stay. And instead he found her playing the great lady, and playing it well. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. He knew she had been weeping.
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