If ever the denouement came—if ever the Hand reached him—Ruth would then understand why he had rebuffed all her tender advances. 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. “When one is happy—I don’t like to think of them.
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