" "What do you think of my sketch, Jack?" said Hogarth, handing him the drawing. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. The pair then descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn, passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before Jonathan Wild's door.
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