I saw him last night at Jonathan Wild's, after my escape from the New Prison. Earles was absolutely indifferent. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. The walls were bare, and painted in stone-colour; the floors, devoid of carpet; the beds, of hangings; the windows, of blinds; and, excepting in the thief-taker's own audience-chamber, there was not a chair or a table about the premises; the place of these conveniences being elsewhere supplied by benches, and deal-boards laid across joint-stools. She lost it in the Mint. . ‘And she’s—’ She broke off, a sudden light in her eyes. "Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you.
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