Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. He saw now that it was merely a boy. He yelled but he had no breath to support his own voice. "So you did," replied the prize-fighter. For the love of Heaven, Jack, don't move!—Don't alter a muscle, if you can help it. Don't lay it all to the boy. And immediately afterwards the curtain was drawn aside, and disclosed the Satanic countenance of Jonathan Wild, who had crept into the house unperceived, "I'll tell you, why he can't go back to his master," cried the thief-taker, with a malignant grin.
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