Or did he? Perhaps he had found another. A pretty piece. She wanted to kiss his feet. It was a brief solitude, however. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands. He never finished his sentence. Wood's astonishment and displeasure momentarily increased. It was now a quarter past twelve. The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door.
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