ToC Scarcely an hour after the horrible occurrence just related, as Jonathan Wild was seated in the audience-chamber of his residence at the Old Bailey, occupied, like Peachum, (for whose portrait he sat,) with his account-books and registers, he was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Quilt Arnold, who announced Jack Sheppard and Blueskin. Stay! I'll go myself. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. To Spurlock, in this hour, his conscience stood over against the Ten Commandments, one of which he had broken. Suddenly he came to a stop, his mouth agape. By this time, Jack's reputation had risen to such a height with the populace,—his exploits having become the universal theme of discourse, that the streets were almost impassable for the crowds collected to obtain a view of him. You will make him get his daughter, if you please. “Where?” “To that ball. “Who will you stop with?” “I shall go on my own. ” Like most men who lie but seldom, he lied well.
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