\" She replied to him, looking into his blue eyes. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. Scissors with which to cut her hair, just in case. 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. "I knew that would bring him to," thought Wild. . This laugh and his looks alarmed her.
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