works. 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. He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely. The unfortunate prisoner, meanwhile, who was not informed of the respite, languished in his horrible dungeon, and, at the expiration of three weeks, became so seriously indisposed that it was feared he could not long survive. Angelina's distress over these mischances was pathetic. For a second time Ann Veronica wanted to swear at the universe. "My lips would belie my heart were I to refuse you. I always told you some accident would happen. "And so you've given up all hope of escaping, eh, Jack?" remarked Hogarth. " "Aye," said McClintock, in a tone so peculiar that it sent Spurlock's glance to his plate.
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