F. His hair flew out from the sides of his head like black bats from a belfry, it was unruly and long. By the time she was done, the bodies in the bathtub were gathering flies. It's precisely the same thing to me to bid my janizaries cut Thames Darrell's throat, as to order Jack Sheppard's execution. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy.
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