"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. ‘I escape from a fate entirely misérable, you understand. Your glove will suffice. Towards this box Sharples directed his steps, and, unlocking a hatch in the door, disclosed a recess scarcely as large, and certainly not as clean, as a dog-kennel. “Where is she?” He would yell even louder until she was sure that people in faraway fishing boats could probably hear him. Gosse was backing towards the table.
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