“Sir John is a man of the world,” her aunt answered coldly. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. However this may be, such was the ill report of the place that few passed along the Old Bailey without bestowing a glance of fearful curiosity at its dingy walls, and wondering what was going on inside them; while fewer still, of those who paused at the door, read, without some internal trepidation, the formidable name—inscribed in large letters on its bright brass-plate—of JONATHAN WILD. “Steady on!” he cried. ’ ‘Yes,’ she agreed, but her manner was a degree less warm. It was the sing-song girl idea, magnified many diameters. The young officer sat in front, his hat perfectly straight.
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