"Don't weep, my love," replied the lady, straining him still more closely to her. He had no use for Ann Veronica; he had never had a use for her since she had been too old to sit upon his knee. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. And she was as shrewd as they come. Not entirely. It has been already intimated that Jack had an excessive passion for finery; and it might have been added, that the chief part of his ill-gotten gains was devoted to the embellishment of his person. "A doctor? What he needs is a good jolt of aromatic spirits of ammonia. There's nothing so sad in this world as an old fool," she added.
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