Were I not Jonathan Wild, I'd be Jack Sheppard. Burn your palette and your easel. I won’t tolerate any foreign tongue in this house, least of all that confounded French. And meanwhile, we’ll just have these no doubt potentially lethal little claws of yours out of harm’s way. " She rose. I don't know whose brainless head it may be, but it'll do for my collection. Just as Jack got half way down the stairs, and Wild and the Jew reached the upper landing, the street-door was opened by Langley and Ireton, the latter of whom carried a lantern. "Do you think I'm afeard of a beggarly thief-taker and his myrmidons? Not I. Bird,—who was rushing up stairs, alarmed by Mr.
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