His five o’clock shadow was bristly against her fingers. “So Cheveney was her friend, you think, eh?” he remarked. It was there in the breast pocket, stiff and legal looking. 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.
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