" "It's Jonathan Wild," returned the widow, endeavouring to alarm him. In the artificial light her skin had the tint and lustre of a yellow pearl. "I took you for one who wouldn't hesitate to avail himself of any advantage chance might throw in his way," returned the thief-taker, coldly. “Do you believe me now?” She asked. Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. The same teardrop bust, the same long waist, the same thick legs.
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