ToC After a few minutes' rapid walking, during which neither party uttered a word, Jonathan Wild and his companion had passed Saint Paul's, dived down a thoroughfare on the right, and reached Thames Street. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. This lover of yours—” “He doesn’t know!” cried Ann Veronica. He unhooked it from the front clasp. The sidewalk resonated with the pounding of cold rain by the time she left the building.
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