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However this may be, such was the ill report of the place that few passed along the Old Bailey without bestowing a glance of fearful curiosity at its dingy walls, and wondering what was going on inside them; while fewer still, of those who paused at the door, read, without some internal trepidation, the formidable name—inscribed in large letters on its bright brass-plate—of JONATHAN WILD. CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. ” Sir John’s head bent lower and lower. He rested his brow on his hand and conveyed magnificent tragedy by his pose. Is all that folly done with—for ever?” Annabel shivered ever so slightly.
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