I overheard Jonathan Wild's instructions to Quilt Arnold, and though he spoke in slang, and in an under tone, my quick ears, and acquaintance with the thieves' lingo, enabled me to make out every word he uttered. His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. She was a lone white woman, therefore marked. The ball passed over his head, and lodged in the ceiling. “Where to?” he asked, as the hansom drove up. Another instance was that of Toby Tanner—" "No more of this," interrupted Trenchard; "where is the boy?" "Not far hence," replied Wild. That he should pay forty pounds to help this girl who preferred another man was no less in his eyes than a fraud and mockery that made her denial a maddening and outrageous disgrace to him.
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