Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. “He will find it difficult no doubt to alter his style of living,” she said. ‘I was just looking the place over when I heard you calling out. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he required no prison bars to accentuate this misery. How Jonathan Wild's House was burnt down.
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