“Why, it’s David!” he exclaimed. " He then closed the lantern, mounted without much difficulty upon the roof, and proceeded cautiously along the tiles. I saw him last night at Jonathan Wild's, after my escape from the New Prison. “Anna,” he pleaded, “be merciful. I’m going up to London with the Widgetts to that ball. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. On the contrary.
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