A chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell. God bless you, Auntie! I'll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, if you want me to. The night his execution was therefore passed in a most anxious state of mind; nor was his uneasiness allayed by the appearance of Jonathan Wild, who, after he had been driven from the roof of the jail, repaired to the Middle Stone Ward in a fit of ungovernable passion, to vent his rage upon the prisoner, whom he looked upon as the cause of the present calamity. Something in her voice and manner conveyed an effect of unwonted gravity to him. "That's well," replied Wild, entering the house, and fastening the door. . “I saw—they knocked off your fetters yesterday.
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