Jackson," said Kneebone, whose assiduity to Mrs. How Jonathan Wild's House was burnt down. It disgusts me that you should touch me. She seemed to think he was merely the paymaster, handing over the means of her freedom. He used to call it his fire-escape—ha! ha! I've often used the ladder for my own convenience, but I never expected to turn it to such good account. A wooden balcony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with admiration of his appearance. That's the way it goes.
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