‘Lord,’ he uttered, glancing about with a disparaging eye. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. Pottiswick had mentioned muttering. However this may be, such was the ill report of the place that few passed along the Old Bailey without bestowing a glance of fearful curiosity at its dingy walls, and wondering what was going on inside them; while fewer still, of those who paused at the door, read, without some internal trepidation, the formidable name—inscribed in large letters on its bright brass-plate—of JONATHAN WILD. All this Woman-who-Diddery —no damn good. On the right were several mounted grenadiers: on the left, some half dozen javelin-men. She inhaled a deep breath of air—London air.
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