It was instantly burst open, when the horrible stench that issued from it convinced them that it must be a receptacle for the murdered victims of the thief-taker. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. “They were sent to me by Mr. ‘We needn’t murder Lucia. ” His arms were around her. “No, John, you won’t understand. “Why not?” “Because you are mine. "Do nothing without consulting my father—your father, Thames," she implored.
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