ToC After a few minutes' rapid walking, during which neither party uttered a word, Jonathan Wild and his companion had passed Saint Paul's, dived down a thoroughfare on the right, and reached Thames Street. You have a daughter, no? Madame Ibstock, I think. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. Then she would be dead, and that was no use. “How I am to earn enough sous for my dinner to-morrow—or failing that, what I can sell. Supper was over.
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