This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. Wood uttered something like an imprecation. " "I don't require it," returned Sheppard. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. It will be hot work, but it must be done at once. He was now as civil as he had just been insolent.
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