His brows drew a little nearer together. Her soul was full of the sense of disaster. "Right to a farthing. The work of plunder over, that of destruction commenced. ‘But I’m hanged if I know why you find it so amusing. 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. Their conversation hung. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. "Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. “She will take her risk,” she answered. I suppose I ought to have been a man.
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