My reception at West Kensington you know of. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. It will be hot work, but it must be done at once. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. The Ragged Edge. The whole incident was so unexpected that neither Courtlaw nor Brendon were awaiting. ” “No, I don’t. The latter appeared to contain several papers, which Jack carefully put by, in the hope that they might turn out of importance in a scheme of vengeance which he meditated against the thief-taker. " "You cannot prevent my departure," replied Jack, dauntlessly, "and therefore your offer is no favour. A single glance served to show the thief-taker how matters stood. This man’s name is Montague Hill. Spurlock.
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