The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. ‘But this is not to my blame, grandpére. Let us stay the night here. He waved an arm and spoke with a peculiar resonance. I thought that you loved Paris and your work so much.
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