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. She was still fully dressed; so all she had to do was to pause before the mirror and give her hair a few pats. He’ll survive. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. He stood still, almost breathless. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. “And this is Mr.
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