The little pucker in her brows became more perceptible. But if he speaks—I fear what he may tell. She was informed by Ah Cum that the Chinaman was one of the literati and that he was expounding the deathless philosophy of Confucius, which, summed up, signified that the end of all philosophy is Nothing. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. She did not think Ann Veronica would do as her companion. He seemed to possess a penetration and cunning beyond his years—to hide a man's judgment under a boy's mask. Later, she understood his reasons; and it had now become habit. While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. And she was about as capable of intelligent argument as a runaway steam-roller.
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