5. " "Do you happen to know Jonathan Wild, master?" inquired Jack, altering his tone, and assuming a more respectful demeanour. Good riddance. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. This horrible piece of deformity, who acted as drawer and cellarman, and was a constant butt to the small wits of the jail, was nicknamed the Black Dog of Newgate. ‘That’s wicked, that is.
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