There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. Before he could recover from the stunning effects of the blow, Wood possessed himself of the child: and, untying the noose which had been slipped round its throat, had the satisfaction of hearing it cry lustily. She obeyed, extending her arm. The stain upon our family is only half effaced: I have sworn the death of the villain and his bastard, and I will keep my oath.
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