It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. We aren’t afraid; we don’t bother. He heard the struggle on the landing, the fall of the heavy body, the groan,—and excited almost to frenzy by his fears, he succeeded in forcing open the door. 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. ‘Will you—what was it?—“blow off his head”?’ Melusine eyed her, a little uncertain. They even threatened to cut the traces and take off the wheels from the carriage. ‘Too late by the time I realised to what a dunderhead I’d pledged my friendship.
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