Soldiers were stationed at different points of the street to keep off the mob, and others were riding backwards and forwards to maintain an open space for the passage of the procession. He could hardly open the envelope, he trembled so. She listened, her suspicions confirmed. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door. ‘Don’t dare address me by such a title.
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