Don’t touch the handle, Annabel! Curse the thing, you’ve jammed it now. Then it dawned. The night his execution was therefore passed in a most anxious state of mind; nor was his uneasiness allayed by the appearance of Jonathan Wild, who, after he had been driven from the roof of the jail, repaired to the Middle Stone Ward in a fit of ungovernable passion, to vent his rage upon the prisoner, whom he looked upon as the cause of the present calamity. It was an odd little encounter, that left vague and dubitable impressions in her mind.
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