He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. The packets were hastily broken open; and, while Wood was absorbed in the perusal of the despatch addressed to him by Sir Rowland, Thames sought out, and found the letter which he had been prevented from finishing on the fatal night at Jonathan Wild's. "Then I presume you've not been arrested?" "I have not," answered Wood firmly.
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