On this elevation a table was now placed, around which sat the turnkeys and their guests, regaling themselves on the fragrant beverage provided by the prisoner. One of the shutters was a trifle damaged, letting in added light. " "It's Jonathan Wild," returned the widow, endeavouring to alarm him. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. But the aunt seized her in her arms and rocked with her. " "In whose favour is it made?" he inquired, sternly.
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