Jonathan Wild?" asked the attendant, in great trepidation. “Tell me,” she insisted, “why you look like that. Jonathan nodded assent. " There was a pause. He answered with the greatest assurance, that he knew nothing whatever of the matter—had seen no pocket-book, and no associate to give up. She must kill this man, or kill herself. Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. Before any assistance could be rendered by the jailers, who stood astounded, Blueskin had got Wild in his clutches.
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