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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. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. Keep your eye upon the lad. Evidently he was gazing at the dull red roofs of the city: but was he registering what he saw? Never glance sideways at man, the old Kanaka woman had said. Melusine ripped at the buttons of the garment, dragging it open and away, and gasped at the massive red stain on his shirt. But no more of that. Wood, however, made known his presence to the individual by laying his hand upon his shoulder. "Is the case of watches on board?" he asked in an under tone. Unwillingly he drew a little nearer, and became one of the group of loiterers about the entrance. As the woollendraper's back was towards him, he did not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses. He had been baptized there.
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