But I don’t want to. I’m off to England. Firmly built, as it was, the bridge creaked in such a manner with their contending efforts, that Abraham durst not venture beyond the door, where he stood, holding the light, a horrified spectator of the scene. It was grated and crested with spikes, like that he had just burst open, and thinking it a needless waste of time to force it, he broke off one of the spikes, which he carried with him for further purposes, and then climbed over it. By the will of Mr. Ennison’s signet-ring had cut nearly to the bone. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. —Jonathan Wild: August 31st, 1724.
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