How Jonathan Wild's House was burnt down. "To be sure he has!" returned Mrs. Gwen—I saw Gwen the other day, and the paint’s thicker than ever. “Is this hansom for me?” she said. Seeing from the threatening looks of his captors, that they were about to wreak their vengeance upon him, the miserable wretch besought mercy in abject terms, and charged his master with the most atrocious crimes. Mr. I’m a hard young woman. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. But I vowed that Ruth should never suffer the way I did—and do.
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