” “Then I didn’t waste my time in prison altogether?” “It wasn’t the prison impressed me. Stanley was inclined to think the censorship should be extended to the supply of what he styled latter-day fiction; good wholesome stories were being ousted, he said, by “vicious, corrupting stuff” that “left a bad taste in the mouth. " "A short man, isn't he, about your height, Sir,—with a yellow beard, and a face as sly as a fox's?" "Hem!" replied Wood, coughing slightly to conceal a smile; "the description's not amiss. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. ToC Scarcely an hour after the horrible occurrence just related, as Jonathan Wild was seated in the audience-chamber of his residence at the Old Bailey, occupied, like Peachum, (for whose portrait he sat,) with his account-books and registers, he was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Quilt Arnold, who announced Jack Sheppard and Blueskin. ‘Why did you bring him? I hate him. Moreover, atrociously and inexorably, he allowed it to appear ever and again in horrible gleams that he suspected there was some man in the case. "No, Sir, it's quite possible—more than possible. But he was destined to have every tide of feeling awakened—every wound opened. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend.
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