"If Jack would come to my house, I'd contrive to hide him," remarked a buxom dame. " "I liked that, too," she replied; "but it wasn't that I had in mind. Kneebone, addressing his comely attendant; "put a few more plates on the table, and bring up whatever there is in the larder. The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow. Hill, Meysey Hill. He halted,—looked fearfully around,—stopped again, and exclaimed aloud, "I don't like the job; and yet it must be done, or Mr. " "How long will you be here?" "To-morrow night. Jonathan Wild's House in the Old Bailey XVII. "To be sure, it's not surprising the poor little thing should be so marked; for, when I lay in the women-felons' ward in Newgate, where he first saw the light, or at least such light as ever finds entrance into that gloomy place, I had nothing, whether sleeping or waking, but halters, and gibbets, and coffins, and such like horrible visions, for ever dancing round me! And then, you know, Sir—but, perhaps, you don't know that little Jack was born, a month before his time, on the very day his poor father suffered. ‘She’s gone. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. "What is he gone there for?" "With a message to the turnkey to look after his prisoner," replied Wild, with a cunning smile.
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