But he was not a father one could make much of. “How’s the star?” John’s father asked. Reaction set in and she leapt at him, beating at his chest with her fists. However this may be, such was the ill report of the place that few passed along the Old Bailey without bestowing a glance of fearful curiosity at its dingy walls, and wondering what was going on inside them; while fewer still, of those who paused at the door, read, without some internal trepidation, the formidable name—inscribed in large letters on its bright brass-plate—of JONATHAN WILD. "Nor any one else, I suspect," answered Ireton, winking significantly.
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