The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. "Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. "I'll tote the odiousness outside. How Jonathan Wild's House was burnt down 458 XXXI. T’weren’t fitting, we knew that. “In the bathroom. I offered him a hundred to watch Spurlock. Stay! I'll go myself.
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