Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. "The devil you have!" thundered a voice from behind, that filled the apprentice with dismay. Spurling, formerly, it may be remembered, the hostess of the Dark House at Queenhithe,—whence wine, ale, and brandy of inferior quality were dispensed, in false measures, and at high prices, throughout the prison, which in noise and debauchery rivalled, if it did not surpass, the lowest tavern. ‘And if you like, I will tell you why. He has told me sufficient of you—" "My dear," interposed Wood, "for goodness' sake—" "I will speak," screamed his wife, totally disregarding the interruption; "I will tell this worthless creature what I know about her,—and what I think of her. “Come with me. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. He has got five minutes' start of you. . ’ She bit her lip, and then turning her face away, emitted another sigh. He shook his head. This time he couldn't get far. B.
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