And then the fetters, which were still upon his legs:—how was he to get rid of them? Tired and dispirited, he still wandered on. 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. Jack was caught, as in a trap, by the pendant tails of Abraham's long frock; and, instead of obtaining his release by his ingenuity, he only got a sound thrashing. "What of her?" exclaimed Jack, starting up. Suddenly she became aware of the fact that he had brought no lunch. She swallowed hard. ‘Wait! No time for that. And, mind, it's for his sister, Lady Trafford.
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