And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. Brown was no fool, and he understood the sudden onus of the other children to share the limelight. ‘Not another caller will I receive this day. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. Wood hadn't struck me. It wouldn’t be you.
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