I overheard Jonathan Wild's instructions to Quilt Arnold, and though he spoke in slang, and in an under tone, my quick ears, and acquaintance with the thieves' lingo, enabled me to make out every word he uttered. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. Jack had no sooner taken his place in the cart, than he was followed by the ordinary, who seated himself beside him, and, opening the book of prayer, began to read aloud. “It couldn’t be. Don’t you care for Nigel at all?” Anna was silent for a moment or two.
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