" Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. ‘You said—who?’ ‘Remenham. Come close to me, and let me hold your hand, dear. ” Ann Veronica sat with her chin on her hand, red-lit and saying little, and Miss Miniver discoursed. She had imagined she had drowned them altogether. 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.
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