‘My name’s NOT More, Mr. E. Wood's charms equalled your description. The chapel was again crowded with visitors, and every eye—even that of Jonathan Wild who had come thither to deride him,—was fixed upon him. I overheard Jonathan Wild's instructions to Quilt Arnold, and though he spoke in slang, and in an under tone, my quick ears, and acquaintance with the thieves' lingo, enabled me to make out every word he uttered. Neither did his interest,—which was by no means inconsiderable,—nor his general popularity, procure him the preferment he desired. Immediately after it, he was off again, and that, let me tell you, was the last anyone saw of him. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside.
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