This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. Pay fools with promises. I saw him last night at Jonathan Wild's, after my escape from the New Prison. Conceiving the opportunity too favourable to be lost, Jack sprang suddenly over the hedge, and before the man, who was floundering on the ground with one foot in the stirrup, could extricate himself from his embarrassing position, secured his pistols, which he drew from the holsters, and held them to his head.
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