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. Down on your marrow-bones, sirrah! Confess your guilt, and Sir Rowland may yet save you from the gallows. ‘Yes, I know. Lord bless you marm! we sees plenty on 'em in our purfession. As they entered the room beyond, a fierce growl was heard. "Let us in," said the Master, rapping his truncheon authoritatively against the boards, "or we'll force an entrance. ” She thought more and more along that line. Nor was Jack by any means the only stripling in the room. But there was nothing in her bearing that a passer-by would have noted, to tell of the excitement that possessed her.
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