The chapel was again crowded with visitors, and every eye—even that of Jonathan Wild who had come thither to deride him,—was fixed upon him. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage.
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