In the centre of the upper gallery was a spacious saloon, appropriated to the governors of the asylum. I like you very much, I haven’t known you enough to love you, no matter how worthy you are of love. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. I've left mine on the spikes of the New Prison, and must borrow yours.
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