Time wore on somewhat slowly with the prisoner, who had to control his impatience in the best way he could; but as the shades of evening were darkening, the door was unlocked, and Mr. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves. Nobody who cared. Sheppard, with an agonized look at Wood. 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.
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