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. “But of course it’s aunt’s doing really. ’ Le Petit Journal said that the man was dead. Wood?" "With pleasure," replied the woollen-draper. "At present under the care of his preserver—one Owen Wood, a carpenter, by whom he was brought up.
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