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. “If one was free,” she said, “one could go to him. Then she would be dead, and that was no use. I've another reason for supposing he'll pay me a visit. “Enter Sir John, very honest, very much in love with me. Wood, disdainfully.
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