Madman that I am to be so!" "Help!" shrieked Mrs. ” She rested the firing end of the cannon against her own temple. "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 spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. You must keep out of the way till it's blown over.
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