He made his speech a little elaborately. However this may be, such was the ill report of the place that few passed along the Old Bailey without bestowing a glance of fearful curiosity at its dingy walls, and wondering what was going on inside them; while fewer still, of those who paused at the door, read, without some internal trepidation, the formidable name—inscribed in large letters on its bright brass-plate—of JONATHAN WILD. But no more of that. It was a bizarre sight, a miniature manor, replicated fully, walled in gray limestone. The former was shot by Blueskin through the head, and his body fell over the bannisters.
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