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‘This from a man who calls himself my friend. ” They were in the elder Widgett girl’s bedroom; Hetty was laid up, she said, with a sprained ankle, and a miscellaneous party was gossiping away her tedium. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. 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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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 24-09-2024 22:18:32