And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. "Do you call neglecting your work, and singing flash songs nothing? Zounds! you incorrigible rascal, many a master would have taken you before a magistrate, and prayed for your solitary confinement in Bridewell for the least of these offences. 1. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. He was entranced as she walked towards him.
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