"Dog!" cried Wild, freeing himself by a powerful effort, and dealing Jack a violent blow with the heavy bludgeon, which knocked him backwards, "you are not yet a match for Jonathan Wild. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. When in the plenitude of his power, he commenced a terrible trade, till then unknown—namely, a traffic in human blood. Thames, you needn't tidy yourself, as you've hurt your arm.
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