She had tasted freedom now, and so far she had not felt the need of protection. Vanity was a vice not just to be deprecated, but effectively strangled at birth. Wood heard the cry. “Stuffy these trees make the Avenue,” said Mr. Maggot was equipped in a light blue riding-habit, trimmed with silver, a hunting-cap and a flaxen peruke, and, instead of a whip, carried a stout cudgel.
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