He's the only native I trust in these parts. The night his execution was therefore passed in a most anxious state of mind; nor was his uneasiness allayed by the appearance of Jonathan Wild, who, after he had been driven from the roof of the jail, repaired to the Middle Stone Ward in a fit of ungovernable passion, to vent his rage upon the prisoner, whom he looked upon as the cause of the present calamity. Seems as she don’t trust soldiers easy. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. Just as he was about to drain it, he encountered the basilisk glance of Jonathan Wild, and paused. Awkwardly, he closed his eyes and fumbled for a kiss. And you need not fear that I shall not give back the sword when I have finished using it. Drink the toast, Jack.
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