‘And I wouldn’t be no sort of a man if I’d heard what I heard, and gone off and left you. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. He singled out my poor husband from a crowd of other felons; and you know how right he was in that case, Sir. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader.
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