‘C’est ridicule. The echoes of his hard, unpleasant laugh reached Anna on her way upstairs. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. “I suppose things have changed?” she said. Entering the Red Room, he crept through the hole in the wall, descended the chimney, and arrived once more in his old place of captivity. ‘Do that again,’ he said softly, ‘and I’ll make you sorry you ever came to England. Marvel, then, took two iron weights, each of a hundred pounds, and placed them in the press.
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