"My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. He glanced up. The next moment, he was felled to the ground by Jonathan Wild, who sprang into the room, followed by Abraham bearing the link. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. “I want to know who you are. But it doesn’t alter the situation.
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