She would flee to the wild fastnesses, the places where there were no overarching systems of any use, where she could blend with the unstable populace and kill in relative peace. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. Then we find out. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air. "Your son's father was a thief; and Jonathan Wild (unless I'm misinformed,) was his friend,—so it's not unnatural he should show some partiality towards Jack.
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