The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. Spare me yet a little while, Father! not for my own sake, but for the sake of this poor babe. She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air. Death belongs to God, young man. It was rigged up for the occasion as it has been many a time before. She has already forgotten it. You told me he was going back to Newgate after supper, so I mayn't have another opportunity.
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