“I don’t think she will,” she said. If I am to die in the attempt, then so be it. The kindly faced landlady had failed to catch his name, and said he was a tall, handsome gentleman with a great black mustache. The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. And yet she knew it was not fair to call her a foolish girl. “In self-defence I had to,” she answered. ” She smiled at him, an understanding smile, but her words defied him.
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