Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. If I'd been in the way, instead of Jonathan Wild, that accident wouldn't have happened. The moon had arisen, and everything could be as plainly distinguished as during the day. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad.
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