The infant’s body, now missing its pulverized head, was still twitching among the blood-soaked ruins of corpses. "Your ladyship is far too unwell to travel," remarked the female attendant, assisting her to rise; "you'll never be able to reach Manchester. "We shall meet again ere long, my son," cried Mrs. Such a beautiful boy he is, but his intelligence is marginal. —Jonathan Wild: August 31st, 1724. "On Friday," he replied.
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