It was the beginning of June. And, if Rachel had not carried a candle, the room would have been plunged in total darkness. The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. There was another little thing he had to say. ‘A devil is just what you are. “We were bound to do this when you kissed me,” she sobbed through her tears. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand.
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