Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. “How did you find me?” He asked. ” Her voice trembled with suppressed passion. “I look older. She knew the truth of it all right. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. He would have to sit down here in Canton and wait, perhaps for weeks. . And Lady Trafford having been carried down stairs, and placed within it, the postboy drove off, at a rapid pace for Barnet. I've been thinking about it ever since morning.
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