Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free. Just as he was about to drain it, he encountered the basilisk glance of Jonathan Wild, and paused. It is the worst of talk under such social circumstances that it is always getting cut off so soon as it is beginning; and I went home that afternoon feeling I had said nothing—literally nothing—of the things I had meant to say to you and that were coursing through my head. I'm not noble; so my honourable ancestors will not turn over in their graves. "If I could work as fast as you, I might afford to be as idle. He was asleep when Jonathan entered, and growled at being disturbed.
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