The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. Now, more than ever, it was time to start running. Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. Between him and the beach stood the sum of six hundred dollars. “Surely!” he remarked, with an expression of worried appeal.
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