Closing the door, Jonathan next produced his lantern, and, hastening towards the window, undrew a bolt by which it was fastened. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. “But you must forgive me, John. He let go of the girl’s arm. But after a time I learned the ways of the parrakeets, and they would come down to me like doves in the stories.
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