"Dog!" cried Wild, freeing himself by a powerful effort, and dealing Jack a violent blow with the heavy bludgeon, which knocked him backwards, "you are not yet a match for Jonathan Wild. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated. ‘Desist, you little devil,’ he growled in her ear. You denied it at the time—but unfortunately I have proof. Once she heard him mutter, and she leaned down. " "Give you the best I have in either case," replied Figg.
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