Wood, at Dollis Hill —" "Let me have one," said a carpenter, who was passing by at the moment,—"Mr. ” “And I also,” Brendon echoed. The present divinity of the cellar was a comely middle-aged dame, almost as stout, and quite as shrill-voiced, as the Billingsgate fish-wives above-mentioned, Mrs. No breakfast, he’s had no dinner, hardly a mouthful of soup— since yesterday at tea. Spurlock lay with his head on his arms, asleep. . " Roused by this reflection, filled with the deepest anxiety for his mother, and burning to be avenged upon Jonathan Wild, he grasped the iron bar, which, when he sat down, he had laid upon his knees, and stepped quickly across the room.
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