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. It was free of leering men, unthinkable punishments, and human evil. go. "We have, Captain," replied Blueskin. Shotbolt, the head turnkey of Clerkenwell Prison, and Mr. After the usual laconic greetings, he drew him on one side. As far as I recollect, there were two. If anyone noticed, he did not report the event.
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