They were Jonathan Wild and Quilt Arnold. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. ‘Only perhaps I can more readily do so if you will put down that pistol. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. “How old are you?” “Sixteen.
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