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She brought her face to his chest, turning her head sideways so he would not notice her elongated canines. However this may be, such was the ill report of the place that few passed along the Old Bailey without bestowing a glance of fearful curiosity at its dingy walls, and wondering what was going on inside them; while fewer still, of those who paused at the door, read, without some internal trepidation, the formidable name—inscribed in large letters on its bright brass-plate—of JONATHAN WILD. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. While this was passing, Jonathan had ridden back to Marvel to tell him that all was ready, and to give him his last instructions. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea.
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