She dragged the broken bottle across her carotid artery, creating an inch-deep gash upon her throat. On the same peg and evidently belonging to it was a black velvet Zouave jacket. She never questioned the motives of the characters; she had neither the ability nor the conceit for that; but she could and often did correct his lapses in colour. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. 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. 1.
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